the art of boxes
by possibilist
Summary: 'Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.' College!Faberry as promised. Follows canon up through s3.
1. box after box, you're still by my side

summary: 'Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.' college!faberry as promised.

an (1): i promised, so here's the first chapter of my college!faberry fic. it follows canon through s3.

an (2): listen to '1000 sundowns' by emma louise.

* * *

the art of boxes

_._

_so many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them._

—sylvia plath

...

one. _box after box and you're still by my side_

_._

"Don't you dare touch that," Santana says, walking up next to Quinn and bumping her hip lightly, pushing her away from the cardboard box sitting on the cement outside of her new dorm building.

"It's not even heavy," Quinn says, but she moves anyway.

Santana bends down and lifts the box, motions for Quinn to walk in front of her. "No way did I come all the way from New York just to watch you hurt your back. You're pathetic in a wheelchair."

Quinn rolls her eyes but as she opens the door she smiles softly. Santana walks by with a smile too.

Quinn follows Santana up two flights of stairs, making it to her dorm. She hasn't met her roommate, but her stuff is already set up; there's a Youth Lagoon poster tacked on the wall and a stack of biology and chemistry textbooks in one of the bookcases.

Quinn's side of the room is currently five cardboard boxes, four suitcases, and a few totes full of pictures.

Santana puts down the last box, sighing. "That's it then, right? I don't have to carry any more of your shit?"

"I would've helped. And it's not shit."

"That's not what I asked." Santana sits down on the bare mattress.

"That's it."

"Awesome," Santana says, lying back.

Quinn sits down on the bed next to her, and Santana takes Quinn's hand.

"This is pretty nice."

Santana sits up. "Yeah. It is."

"My mom'll be happy. She was worried I wouldn't like the building or something."

"So you and Judes are talking now?"

Quinn laughs. "You spent, like, half of the summer eating her food. At my house."

"She's a good cook. No wonder you were fat as a little kid."

Quinn shakes her head with a smile. "Should we start unpacking?"

Santana sighs dramatically. "I suppose so."

Quinn gets up first, tugging Santana with her, and they open the first box. It has mostly books in it, and Quinn takes out armfulls at a time, stacking them neatly in the bookcase.

"I'll alphabetize them later. You can just hand them to me for now," she says.

Santana laughs. "You're a gigantic nerd."

Quinn shrugs. "I'm at Yale."

They unpack for a while longer, and then there's a knock at the door. There's a girl standing there. She has blue eyes and long, light brown hair. She's about an inch shorter than Quinn and maybe twenty pounds heavier, and she's wearing dark skinny jeans, brown leather oxfords, a green t-shirt, and a scarf.

She smiles when she sees them. "I'm Hazel," she says. "And I assume one of you is my roommate. Or else you have the wrong dorm."

Quinn stands, and it's a little stiff because she had been on the train all through last night, and Santana looks worried for a second. Quinn shakes her head with a little, reassuring smile. She smooths the skirt of her dress, one she'd gotten from a vintage place in San Francisco over the summer, when she'd visited Frannie, green with little pink flowers on it. She turns towards Hazel and says, "I'm Quinn."

Hazel shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Quinn smiles. "You too. This is my friend Santana. She's helping me carry stuff because—"

"—Quinn's a cripple," Santana says, shaking Hazel's hand.

"_Santana_," Quinn says.

Santana shrugs. Hazel laughs.

"I'm not kidding," Santana continues. "Anyway, Quinn's also an awful packer."

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"In that case, I can help you guys if you want," Hazel says.

"Thank you," Quinn says.

As they unpack, they talk about lots of things—Hazel's from Phoenix, Arizona; she has a younger brother who's sixteen; she likes volleyball and tennis; she's majoring in biochemistry and she wants to go to medical school; she's allergic to peanuts.

They get most of Quinn's stuff put away before it starts to grow dark. Quinn senses the ebb of Santana's presence, the waxing of childhood and Lima, comfort and pain, as the sun starts to set.

Santana looks at her watch. "My train leaves in forty-five minutes."

Quinn nods. "I'll walk you downstairs," she says, and takes Santana's hand before Santana can protest.

Once they're alone outside the building, surrounded by castles and fortresses, moths swirling in the light of the streetlamps, Quinn hugs Santana tightly to her. "I'm going to miss you," she says.

Santana's breath catches against Quinn's chest. "Don't manage to get yourself killed while I'm not around. Brittany would never forgive me."

Quinn hugs her tighter.

"And don't kill anyone, either."

Quinn's laugh is saturated with tears. "Check up on Rachel, okay?"

Santana's hand squeezes Quinn's shoulder. "Only if you promise me something."

Santana steps back from their hug and brushes her thumb along Quinn's cheek. "Okay," Quinn says.

"Be brave," Santana says. "You deserve to be proud of who you are."

Quinn wraps Santana in her arms again. "Who are you and what'd you do with Santana Lopez?"

Santana laughs. "I have to go, Q."

Quinn nods, letting go of Santana. "I love you," Santana says.

"I love you too."

Santana tugs her purse over her shoulder, wiping tears, then waving, before she walks in the direction of the bus stop.

Quinn allows herself to feel the ache in her chest. She thinks of Santana helping to unpack those poxes, pulling apart cardboard and tape with abrasive rips, her strong arms never relenting to the seals that Quinn had placed so contentiously, so carefully.

Santana looks back once and smiles. Quinn is neither Persephone nor Euripides. She doesn't need saving anymore.

The healed incision wrapping along her ribs stings. Quinn doesn't mind at all.

...

Quinn feels loneliness seeping into her lungs as she lays back in bed, pulling her new comforter from Pottery Barn up to her chin. She hugs her stuffed lamb from childhood.

Her phone vibrates. She's already talked to Judy for half an hour, and she's sent Frannie pictures. Quinn sees _Rachel_, then a text that reads _I hope your move-in day went well! I can't wait to see what you've done with the place. :) I'll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams._

Quinn smiles. From their frequent phone conversations and Skype dates and texting into the middle of the night, Quinn knows that Rachel had loved her summer in New York, her courses at NYADA. Quinn also knows that Rachel hadn't gotten back together with Finn, that now she wasn't sure if she ever would.

_Sleep well. I love you_, she types, and she sends it before she can talk herself out of it.

Rachel texts back, _I love you too._

Quinn pictures soil somewhere in the region of her diaphragm, moist with rainwater.

Then Hazel walks in from the bathroom, and Quinn hears her rummaging around and then climbing into her bed.

"So, what'd Santana mean about you being a cripple?" Hazel asks.

"Santana's coping mechanism is inappropriate humor."

"No, I mean, are you okay? Can I get handicap parking or something for being your roommate?"

Quinn laughs. "I'm afraid not."

"Too bad. You could've been good for something, then, Fabray."

Quinn rolls over and props herself up so she can see Hazel. She thinks of her AP Calculus class, of maximums and minimums, places of greatest change. "In February I was in a car accident. It was bad and I had a compressed spinal cord injury. That's what Santana meant," she says. Her voice is small.

Hazel says, "I'm sorry." It fills every space in the room.

Quinn takes a deep breath. She doesn't say _That's silly _or _Don't be_. She says, instead, "Thank you," and then she says, "Santana was helping me today because she's still scared and everything."

"Are you—"

"—Better? Yes and no. I mean, I regained about 85% of the feeling below my waist, and I can walk and dance and everything—" Hazel smiles when Quinn says dance— "but I don't think anything will ever really feel the same."

Hazel quietly says, "Yeah."

Quinn lays back. She allows herself to acknowledge the ache that goes all the way down her spine. "But I guess I'm trying to remember that I can make up for it. I'm trying to feel everything, everywhere else. Really _feel _it. Take it in and let myself get caught up in it."

Quinn sees Hazel's smile even in the dark.

"I've never done that before," Quinn says.

Hazel says, "Now's as good a time as any to start."

"It is," Quinn agrees.

They say goodnight then, and Quinn remembers calculus but she also remembers poetry, roots weaving around her ribcage and flowers blooming through her throat, boxes being ripped open.

She doesn't feel lonely, not really.

...

The next day, she and Hazel wake up at a decent hour, but not too early. Classes don't start for another two days, and they take quick showers before heading to Davenport to have breakfast together.

"I think this is where Rory ate on _Gilmore Girls_," Hazel says, putting a banana on her plate as Quinn picks up a few pieces of bacon.

"I was never allowed to watch that," Quinn says.

Hazel stops walking and grabs Quinn's arm, her eyes huge. "You never watched _Gilmore Girls_? But that was the best show ever."

Quinn shrugs. "I read instead."

"We're having a marathon."

Quinn gets coffee with a smile. "That'd be fine with me. You like Youth Lagoon so I assume you have decent enough taste in everything else."

They launch into a discussion of music, then—from the lack of cohesiveness in The Naked and Famous' _Passive Me, Aggressive You_ to whether or not _Lungs _was a better album than _Ceremonials_—and Quinn catches herself in the middle of a very intense Rachel-like ramble about how incredible the bridge of "Rill Rill" is while ripping her piece of toast.

Hazel starts to laugh and then Quinn does too.

She thinks of Rachel, how Quinn had learned to allow herself to be passionate about music that saved her, day in and day out, and then she thinks of Santana.

She thinks of the source of the sun; she thinks of stars and turning towards them so she can continue to grow. To feel.

She thinks of being brave.

She says, "Hazel, I need to tell you something."

"If it's a profession of love for Fleet Foxes, save it."

Quinn shakes her head. "No. It's—"

Hazel sets down her coffee. Her blue eyes get big. She nods.

"I, um, I don't like—I'm gay," Quinn says.

Hazel smiles a little then. "That's it? I thought you were going to make me hide a body or something."

Quinn fights back the pricks of tears that sting her eyes, and she closes them. She feels Hazel's hand touch her own tentatively.

"Really, Quinn, it's okay. I don't care. I mean, I trust you have enough self-control to not jump me or anything in the middle of the night."

Quinn opens her eyes and a laugh bubbles up her throat. She wipes her cheeks and Hazel grins.

"I'm straight, just so we're clear, though."

"I'm happy to be your wing woman at any parties or coffee meetings or anything. I can be charming."

Hazel sits back, takes a bite out of her toast. "Judging from your consumption of bacon this morning, I highly doubt that."

Quinn rolls her eyes, but then she says, "You're one of the first people I've come out to."

Hazel's eyes are immediately serious. "Thanks."

Quinn nods. "I want to be honest and I want to be happy."

Hazel bites her bottom lip with a smile. "Those are excellent plans."

Quinn remembers the shadow boxes Santana tacked to the wall of her dorm yesterday, three of them. They weren't that big but they displayed Quinn's most prized trinkets—a glass bird from Frannie, a picture of Brittany and Santana in Cheerios uniforms, the program from Nationals with Rachel's autograph on it.

Those boxes were open for everyone to see. They were proud.

...

Rachel calls around three in the afternoon, while Quinn and Hazel are watching their forth episode of _Gilmore Girls_.

"Hey," Quinn says, smiling at Hazel before standing and walking into the hall.

She and Rachel talk about their days—"I finally listened to that Perfume Genius song you sent me, and then I had lunch with some people from my dorm, and I'm wearing that dress I bought last weekend, the one with the blue polka dots that I told you about, and now I'm reading," Rachel says—and they talk about how they miss each other.

"Can I—you'll be—"

Quinn smiles, clenching her phone a little tighter. Rachel rarely stuttered. "—I'd love if you came up next weekend."

They say a little more, and then they say goodbye—Quinn wants to recite Shakespeare, but she doesn't—and Quinn hangs up.

She feels the loneliness and she thinks of how huge the universe is, how stars were so far away.

But she also thinks of how easily they are to see in the middle of the night, how bright and plentiful they are against dark skies.

"Who was that?" Hazel asks as Quinn comes back and sits on Hazel's bed.

Quinn tries to stop smiling. "My friend Rachel. She goes to school at NYADA."

Hazel nudges Quinn's side. "Your _friend_ Rachel? You're blushing."

Quinn shakes her head but she bites her bottom lip and says, "She's visiting next weekend."

"Visiting, huh?"

Quinn shoves Hazel playfully and presses play, sitting with her back against the pillows. Hazel joins her.

A new message from Rachel—_I just mentioned the bridge of Sleigh Bells' "Rill Rill" to some people on my floor and they got very excited and said I'm cool_.—makes Quinn smile.

She types out _First of all, you can stop referring to that song as Sleigh Bells' "Rill Rill" because I know what you're talking about when you just say Rill Rill, and secondly, Congrats on tricking them._ and she thinks of rates of change.

Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.


	2. sadness would rise from our bones

summary: 'Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.' College!Faberry as promised. Follows canon up through s3.

an (1): as i said on tumblr, these chapters are going to be a little shorter but more frequent, because i hate when i really like a fic and they don't update often. so i promise not to do that :) your reviews so far have been amazing, and i can't wait to hear what you guys have to say about this chapter. x

an (2): listen to regina spektor's "firewood" because it was written for faberry.

* * *

two. _sadness would rise from our bones and evaporate in sunlight the way morning fog burned off the river in summer_

.

"I _love _your shoes," he says, gesturing to her oxfords.

Quinn turns her head to glance at the guy next to her. He has dark, rich skin and even darker eyes, hair cropped close to his scalp. He's tall and thin and Quinn's pretty sure he's a dancer. She smiles. "I love _your _shoes."

He laughs. "Flea market in Berlin," he says, then sits in the chair next to Quinn's, so that they're sharing the thin table. It's the second day of syllabus week, and Quinn's early to her first Analysis of Literature class because she'd left plenty of time for her to get lost and still find the right building, which hadn't actually happened.

"I got mine in Ohio," she says.

The guy smiles, offering his hand. "I'm David."

"Quinn."

David leans back in his chair. "So are you from Ohio?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

David pats her on the shoulder with a sympathetic pout. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'd never have guessed that."

Quinn twirls her pen between her fingers. "That does, actually."

"Excellent," David says, adjusting his scarf. "I'm from Dallas."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"It's okay. I'm from Ohio, remember?"

David smiles. So does Quinn, uncapping her pen and doodling a little in her brand new notebook.

"I'm a sophomore," he says.

"Freshman."

David says, "I'd never have guessed that either."

Quinn laughs. "Excellent."

More people start to file in and soon their professor arrives, hands out syllabi. Class goes by quickly and they get out a little early.

As they walk out of the building, David asks, "Where are you headed?"

Quinn points in the direction of her dorm.

David crooks his arm. "Me too."

Quinn smiles and slips her hand around his forearm.

"So, Quinn, you're a dancer, right?"

Quinn smiles. "Yeah. You too, huh?"

David nods. "We should dance sometime together."

Quinn slows down, turning so that she can look at David. "I—uh—"

David shakes his head, waving a hand in the air. "Oh, honey, it's not a date. Did you think it was a date? Because I'm a pretty obvious gay and if you couldn't tell that, we're really going to need to—"

Quinn smiles, wrapping her arm around David's again. "I just wanted to be sure. I'm gay too," she says.

"You are the hottest lesbian I've ever seen," David tells her, hugging her playfully.

He's the second person she's told at Yale, and Quinn thinks of the box that her new camera came in—it was small, but it held lenses and instructions on how to see the world.

They get to her building and Quinn says, "I can't wait to dance with you."

David smiles. "It was nice to meet you, Quinn."

Quinn thinks of _Casablanca._

.

Wednesday evening, she and Hazel are deciding where their new My Brightest Diamond poster should go—over Quinn's desk or on Hazel's closet door—when Hazel asks, "So have you come out to Rachel?"

Quinn sucks in a breath, sits down on her bed. "No. Not yet."

"But you like her?"

Quinn nods. The mattress shifts as Hazel sits down next to Quinn. "Does she like you?"

Quinn shrugs.

"Is she gay?"

Quinn tugs on the sleeve of her Yale sweatshirt. "I don't think so. But she—Rachel's just—I could give her _everything_."

Hazel wraps an arm around Quinn's shoulders and says, "Please don't start crying."

Quinn laughs. "I can't promise anything."

Hazel's fingers squeeze Quinn's arm gently. "You should tell her. At least that you're gay."

Quinn nods. "She'll be fine with that. She has two gay dads."

"Oh," Hazel says. "Should I clear my schedule for a gay pride parade soon, then?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You're so funny."

"That's what they tell me."

Quinn takes a deep breath. She leans her head against Hazel's soft sweater.

"And besides," Hazel says, "if there was any girl in the entire world someone would go gay for, you'd probably be up there on the list."

Quinn laughs and Hazel winks playfully.

They hang the poster above Quinn's bed, because Quinn knows _be brave, dear one, be changed, or be undone_ should be the chorus pumping through her blood.

.

She can't fall asleep on Thursday night. It's silly, because she wants to be rested for when Rachel gets there the next afternoon, but it feels like the night before an AP Exam or a big final—Quinn feels pressure and Quinn feels the heavy, heavy weight of a million expectations, and Quinn feels her own frustration at not being able to escape the smoke of the house of herself that's on fire from her very own matches.

She falls asleep in the ink of the early morning, and she has nightmares: She can see twisted metal and hear the crunch of glass as paramedics make their way to her car. She can't move and she can't breathe.

She wakes up sweating, and it's still dark. Her clock says 5:24 am, and Quinn takes her shaking hands and places them against her shins. The air in her dorm stings her lungs but her nerves fire correctly—miraculously—and all ten fingers are vivid along her legs.

She picks up her phone and climbs out of bed, walks into the hallway as quietly as possible, so Hazel doesn't wake up.

Santana answers on the second ring. "Fuck you, Quinn," she says.

"I'm sorry." Quinn can hear the tremble in her voice, so she's sure Santana can too.

Santana sighs, but she doesn't say anything. Quinn listens to the comforting sounds of her breath—oxygen masks and chest tubes and _this is going to hurt_—and then Santana says, "You're okay."

It's certain and gentle and her stitches had come out, and Quinn believes her.

She says, "Thanks, Santana."

"I still hate you," Santana says, but then she says, "I'm glad you're okay, though."

Quinn creaks open the door to her room and climbs in bed. "Love you," she whispers.

Santana says, "Yeah. Love you too."

Quinn sleeps soundly until her alarm goes off in the morning.

.

It's 3:31 when Rachel's train gets in. Quinn almost feels sick, but it's not from dread; she's just excited now.

And then Rachel's the third person off, and there really aren't that many people at the station so they see each other right away.

Quinn forces herself to walk normally—instead of running-across-the-field-in-_Dirty Dancing_-happily—but Rachel skips a little.

She's wearing a short red dress with little birds printed on it, and sunglasses, and then Quinn is holding her in her arms, and it just feels so _good_, so _right, _and Rachel's hair is still long and soft and a pretty brown, and Rachel says, "I've missed you so much."

Quinn remembers birthday presents from her sister when they were little, a box full of her favourite chocolate, ever year.

.

They walk around Yale for a little while—Quinn points out a few of her favourite spots—and then Rachel grabs her hand.

Quinn pretends like it doesn't mean anything, and Rachel rambles on and on when Quinn asks about her classes, but Quinn can't help but think that if anyone walking around right now, to classes, to meet friends for coffee, to see their lover, saw them, they'd think they were together.

Her chest feels tight at the notion, full and heavy in the good way, the same way that beautiful books and the ocean make her feel: like she's small and insignificant, but like there is a whole world out there constructed just for her.

"And then, my professor asked each of us to say our favourite animal, and this one girl, Martha, I think—"

"—Rachel," Quinn says, and Rachel stops talking. "I have, I have something to tell you," Quinn says. She wasn't planning on telling Rachel now—the goal was to wait until two hours before Rachel was supposed to leave on Sunday afternoon, so that if it got really awkward Rachel could just take an earlier train but Quinn would have at least gotten to see her for a little while—but Rachel's face looks so gentle when she nods and her hand feels so warm and small and perfect that Quinn says, "I'm gay."

Rachel's brows knit together and she leans forward a little, but she doesn't take her hand away. "Are you—you're sure?"

Quinn nods.

Rachel bites her bottom lip and Quinn remembers seeing the container of blood and fluid being drained from her lung, red and translucent and horrible.

But then Rachel smiles a little and says, "You make so much more sense now."

Quinn laughs. "It's great, isn't it?"

Rachel nods, squeezes Quinn's hand. "It's wonderful."

.

They walk to a restaurant just by campus that Quinn knows serves vegan stuff—it's the first thing she looks for now, when she goes anywhere—and they sit at a little booth, Rachel across from her.

They talk happily about classes and music—Quinn wants to ask about Finn and she wants to ask about Rachel's sexual orientation and she wants to ask about lips and fingers and breasts and then she thinks it's funny that her brain short-circuits to a Rachel-like rambling default mode—but nothing serious.

The waiter brings their food, and then Quinn hears Rachel take a deep breath and put down her fork.

"I know it must've been really hard for you to decide to be honest with yourself," she says.

"Yeah," Quinn mumbles.

Rachel shakes her head. "With your background and your faith, I just—did you know for a long time?"

"Yeah," Quinn says again.

Rachel puts her fingers between Quinn's. "I'm so proud of you."

Quinn bites her lip. "You know when you're standing on the beach, and you just look out at the ocean, and it's like you're the only person in the entire world. Small and alone."

Rachel says, "Yes."

Quinn nods. "But then you just kind of think that maybe one other person, on some other continent, somewhere entirely different, someone you'll never even know, ever, is doing the same thing. And you think of them, and you hope they're thinking of you."

"Is that what you feel like now?" Rachel's voice is a whisper.

Quinn smiles. "Yeah."

"Me too," Rachel says.

.

The weekend is simple. Rachel laughs at Hazel's impression of Quinn in the morning, and they all have dinner the next night with David and a few other friends from the dorms, and Rachel sleeps in Quinn's bed without question.

They are friends.

At the station on Sunday, Rachel says, "Your hair's gotten so long."

Quinn nods. "I've been too busy to get a haircut."

Rachel tucks a strand behind Quinn's ear. "Come see me anytime."

"How does next weekend sound?"

Rachel laughs. "Perfect."

They hug for a long time.

Rachel doesn't treat Quinn any differently. It's heartbreaking but it's also the most comforting notion Quinn has ever felt: They're still continents apart, but continents shift and there are boats to take them across the sea.

* * *

references.

i mention lyrics from "be brave" by my brightest diamond. the chapter title is from "light boxes" by shane jones.


	3. the stars have all been blown out

summary: 'Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.' College!Faberry as promised. Follows canon up through s3.

an (1): see, i promised frequent updates! so i had a few comments (all of which were wonderful) about wanting to know more about rachel's thoughts when quinn came out. i won't give anything away, but they're going to keep talking about it, don't worry. for me, something like that isn't a one-time sort of discussion, so that's just a general rule of thumb for this whole fic. anyway, please keep reviewing etc.

an (2): title from "cosmic love" by florence + the machine. i mention lykke li so you should listen to "everybody but me" because it's perfect for rachel and quinn (also it's my favourite).

* * *

three. _the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_

_._

"What are you up to after class on Thursday?" David asks, spinning his now-empty coffee cup around on the table.

"I have a thing right after, but then nothing. Did you have something in mind?" Quinn asks.

David raises his brows. "A _thing_? As in a hot lesbian thing?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Nope. A thing as in a doctor's appointment."

"Oh." David pouts. "Well, I have studio time reserved on Thursday evenings if you'd like to come dance. We could get dinner or go shopping after if you wanted."

Quinn smiles. "That sounds perfect."

"Fantastic," David says, taking the sleeve off of the coffee cup and folding it carefully.

Quinn takes a sip of her tea. Her hands feel clammy. "I—um, would it be weird if I asked you to come with me to my doctor's appointment?"

"Is it a gynecologist?"

Quinn laughs. "No, no. Just a checkup thing. I was in a car accident six months ago so I just have to go and make sure I'm not going to randomly fall apart."

"That wouldn't be good."

"Certainly not."

"I'd be happy to accompany you, then."

"Thanks. I just—sometimes I still get a little freaked out, and I usually go with my mom but obviously she's not here, and—"

David raises his hollow cup and guides Quinn's to meet it, clinking mutedly—paper against paper—in the air.

"A toast," he says, "to not falling apart."

.

Hazel bounces into their dorm later than usual on weeknights, smiling.

"Did you meet a boy?" Quinn asks, singing, sitting up and pausing _Arrested Development _reruns on her Netflix.

Hazel flops down on her bed. "Not at all," she says.

"Then why are you—"

"—We watched Carl Sagan in Biology and even if some of the stuff he says is scientifically wrong, I just—every single time I see him, I get so excited about science and space and life and stuff." Hazel sighs.

"You're a nerd."

Hazel laughs. "I've heard you say the same thing about poetry about five million times already."

Quinn glances at the one box still crammed with her favourite poetry anthologies because they wouldn't fit in her bookshelf. "When I was in high school," she says, "I tried so hard to feel good about myself. Being popular, having the hottest boyfriend, all that stuff, you know?"

Hazel sits up. "Well, I was never popular. But I understand."

Quinn bites her bottom lip. "I wanted to feel lasting and infinite and beautiful and expansive, you know, something in the universe that mattered, not just nothing."

"'We're made of star stuff,'" Hazel quotes.

Quinn smiles. "I like Carl Sagan too."

.

Santana texts her all day Thursday:

_What are you having for breakfast? _

_What did you read today in class? _

_What are you wearing?_

_Have you gotten a haircut yet?_

_When are you coming to New York?_

_Have you eaten bacon yet?_

_How much caffeine have you consumed?_

_How's Hazel?_

_What super gay thing has David said today?_

_Have you met any hot lesbians yet?_

Quinn texts back brightly. Santana says random things because she's still scared, and because sometimes Santana doesn't know how to say the things she wants to. But Quinn also remembers the first time Santana said they were friends, and Quinn remembers the first time they kissed—it was summer and it was hot and Santana was achingly gentle, like she didn't want to scare Quinn away. Quinn remembers fights and hugs and Quinn remembers waking up in the hospital to Santana's teary face. Quinn remembers realizing she couldn't feel her legs almost as vividly as she remembers Santana's strong arms around her shaking shoulders in the very next second.

So Quinn knows each text is an I love you.

Later in the day, Brittany sends her a picture of Lord Tubbington joining Glee practice, and everyone—Tina, Blaine, Artie—is smiling, and she knows this is an I love you too.

Judy calls when Quinn's at lunch, and she Skypes with Frannie a little before class. They're funny and serious at the same time, joking and then very somberly telling her how important she was to them.

Quinn doesn't ever hesitate to say it back.

Rachel sends an email that's about 7,000 words long, and Quinn sees it just before her professor starts lecturing.

She saves it for later, something to come home to, something to make her feel infinite. It's like dance, or poetry, or friends.

.

David sits down in a chair inside the little room inside the doctor's office at Yale-New Haven Hospital while Quinn sits on top of the exam table, swinging her legs.

"How could anyone not fall in love with you in a hospital gown?" he asks.

"It's flattering, huh?"

David nods. "You should model it."

"Only if you model one with me."

There's a knock on the door and then a young woman in light blue scrubs walks in. She's tall and has dark, curly brown hair and brown eyes, a few freckles across her nose. "I'm Dr. Harrison," she says, offering her hand for Quinn to shake. "Dr. Lopez referred you to me."

"I'm Quinn. This is my friend David."

David stands and shakes Dr. Harrison's hand, then turns and bends to kiss Quinn on the top of the head. "I'll be right outside when you're done, okay?"

Quinn nods. "Thanks."

Dr. Harrison sits down on a stool and scoots it over in front of Quinn. "How've you been feeling?"

"Pretty good," Quinn says. "Sometimes my ribs hurt, but my back's been good lately."

Dr. Harrison asks a few more questions which Quinn answers as honestly as possible—Quinn's eating well and her stress levels are low; she's feeling good about school; sometimes she has nightmares and some days she feels depressed, but she's learned coping techniques, and she emails her psychiatrist in Ohio every few weeks—and then asks Quinn to lay back.

The paper crinkles beneath Quinn but the pillow on the table is soft, and Quinn focuses on breathing deeply and remembering that she's in New Haven, that she's at Yale.

That she's alive.

That, when Dr. Harrison tests the nerve responses in both of her legs, she can feel her toes. She can move her knees. She can flex every single of her muscles.

When she turns over and Dr. Harrison presses against the scar that wraps from just below her left breast across her ribs and back, ending just past her left shoulder blade, she thinks of the box of stained glass Frannie made her for her sixteenth birthday. It was glass Frannie had found near a dumpster, and Frannie had welded it together in class. It wasn't big, but it was _beautiful_, and Quinn never put anything in it because she was afraid it would break.

She feels the pain in her chest but she allows it, because she thinks that maybe the emptiness of the box really wasn't ever the point: The box was fractured and fragmented, but it was together, Quinn could see all the way through.

.

Quinn takes off her sweatpants and knit sweater, leaving on a leotard and a pair of short floral-printed cotton shorts and her socks. David puts on a mix of Florence and the Machine and Lykke Li, and the studio is bright with late afternoon sunlight.

"Are you okay for today?"

The scar down her spine is still red, and Quinn can see it in a thousand reflections.

She breathes.

"Yes," she says.

Quinn knows the universe and she thinks of stars. They dance.

.

She's exhausted by the end of the hour David had blocked off, but it's the good kind of exhausted that she'd grown to love during cheer and gymnastics, the kind of exhausted that ached in the perfect way.

They walk back towards the dorms because David insists that if they go out they need to change first, and as soon as they go into his room, Quinn flops down on his bed, sighing.

David laughs. "You poor thing. When was the last time you danced?"

"Like _that_? February 20th," she mumbles into his pillow.

David scoots her over in bed and climbs in, and Quinn rests her head against his chest. "Do you like pizza?"

Quinn smiles. "I love pizza."

"I'll order some. I have to catch up on _Gossip Girl _anyway," he says, putting his laptop at the end of the bed.

Quinn falls asleep to Zee Avi in the background, New York as glamourous as always.

.

She hears, "This is Quinn. You're not allowed to hit on her because she's my friend and she's also a lesbian," before she remembers where she is.

David's chest isn't serving as her pillow anymore, and it's dark outside when she lifts her head and looks out the window, but when she sees the clock on David's wall, it's only 7:43.

"Hey, sleepyhead," David says, and Quinn rolls so that she can see him. He's standing with another guy, who's wearing a Yale sweatshirt. "This is Marcus, my roommate."

Marcus has honey coloured skin and green-grey eyes, and he's a few inches shorter than David, a little bulkier. He smiles. "You wouldn't believe it, but this is the first time I've ever seen David bring a girl back here."

Quinn sits up and straightens her hair as best as she can. She quirks an eyebrow. "You don't say."

"It's a shame too, because he obviously has good taste."

David sits down on the bed next to Quinn. "I told you Quinn was off limits," he tells Marcus, then turns to Quinn. "Marcus is a very heteronormative twenty-year-old male. My apologies."

Quinn laughs. "It's okay. I'm just really gay, Marcus, so I'm sorry to disappoint."

Marcus pulls out the chair tucked into his desk and sits. "Just my luck," he says, then shrugs. "You probably have hot straight friends, though, right?"

"Absolutely," Quinn says.

"Cool." Marcus stands and opens the box of pizza on David's desk. "Dude. Why does this pizza have bacon on it?"

.

David walks Quinn to her dorm—it's only one building away, but it's dark out and David says he's always wanted to try out his childhood karate classes, which makes Quinn laugh—and as they get to the entrance of her building, Quinn says, "You know, sometimes I think that dance is what heaven will feel like. How corny is that?"

David shakes his head. "It's not corny. It's true."

Quinn hugs him then.

David laughs softly and says, "And you're a wonderful dancer."

"So are you," Quinn says, backing up from their embrace, taking out her keys and inserting them into the lock.

"Have fun in New York this weekend." David winks.

Quinn feels herself blush and she shakes her head. "I'll give you the full update on Monday. Promise."

"I expect nothing less," he says, and Quinn waves before nearly running up the stairs, taking her phone out of her pocket on the way. She texts her mom and Frannie and Santana that her checkup had gone great and that she'd even gotten to dance today.

By the time she gets to her room and unlocks the door—Hazel was at a study session, a note said—Quinn almost can't bear to open the email from Rachel.

But she takes a deep breath and sits down at her desk, opens her MacBook Pro. Her hands shake as she clicks on the Mail icon, but she takes a deep breath and thinks of what Rachel told her at Prom, and she thinks of the pass sitting safely in her wallet. She thinks of her almost-packed suitcase.

She thinks of speeding boats and drifting continents.

_Dear Quinn,_

_I know we'll see each other soon—and I can't wait to see you, don't worry—but I wanted to write you an email because when I'm with you it seems that my words sometimes get caught swirling too frantically around my head, which is quite a strange thing for me._

_I wanted to talk about your coming out to me, because I don't think I really got to say everything last weekend, or process it all completely like I have now. Don't worry, none of the processing is bad, so please don't close and archive the email or anything. I just need to say some things, and if I try to tell you in person, I won't be able to._

_(Or I'd have to sing them, and you'd probably hate that.)_

_Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm so proud of you. I don't know how much of a struggle this has been for you—I can't imagine, and I guess I never payed attention closely enough to know—but I know that you must've been so sad and it must've been really hard. I'm so glad that you felt comfortable enough to tell me—it means more to me than you can ever know._

_I talked a little bit to Santana yesterday at dinner and she told me that you haven't come out to your family yet. I want you to know that I will never betray your confidences, and I won't ever push you to tell them, either, but know that whenever you feel like you do, I—and my dads—will be here no matter what._

_The other purpose of this email is mainly to tell you that I love you. I know that today is six months from your accident, and I also can't imagine how hard that must be for you. I hope you know that not a day goes by that I don't thank God that you're still here. I know Santana feels the same way because she was nice to me at dinner last night, even if she never tells you that herself. You are so incredibly important to me, and sometimes when I remember those awful moments, I try to imagine the world without you._

_It seems strange, but I always think that the universe would've stopped had you died. I know it wouldn't have, but I can always see the sun exploding and everything being engulfed in flames. At least, that's what would have happened in my world, and I don't think I ever would've really healed from burns like that._

_So today, I hope you did all the things you love. I hope you sang Of Monsters and Men and danced to Ellie Goulding, and I hope you read some great books and drew some doodles and built an elaborate house of cards and ate the greasiest bacon you could find. I hope you lived as only you can, and I hoped you surprised yourself._

_I'll be at Grand Central when you get here tomorrow. I can't wait to hug you._

_Love, _

_Rachel_

Quinn reads the email four times—all in a row—before wiping her tears and climbing into bed. There's no mention of Rachel being anything but straight, but the whole message is so much bigger than that.

Quinn thinks back to Freshman and Sophomore years in high school, when she was sure that the only love worth giving—and taking—was romantic love.

But now she has Santana and Brittany and her mom and her sister, even Hazel and David, and certainly Rachel, so she unlocks her phone.

She texts Rachel, _Hey, I got your email. I danced today AND I ate bacon at all three meals. Thanks for everything. I love you too. I'll see you soon._

Rachel texts back, _I have our whole weekend scheduled! We're going to have so much fun. I'm so excited! _and Quinn thinks of stars exploding and entirely new worlds being born like phoenixes.

.

On the train, Quinn sits across from an elderly couple, Henry and Elsa Jacobs, they introduce themselves. They smile at her and they ask her if she goes to Yale, and then they tell her all about their three children and eight grandchildren.

They invite Quinn over to dinner at their house—they live in New Haven—anytime.

And they're in New York, and, as Quinn stands to get her bag, Henry winks at Quinn. "Go get her," he says, and Quinn feels her nervousness dissipate just slightly at Henry's encouraging smile.

Quinn steps off the train—she's wearing a new dress and a denim jacket, ankle boots, and her hair and makeup are perfect, she'd made sure—and it takes her about a minute to find Rachel, who is in a skirt and sweater, although it's more New York than Ohio now, and then Rachel spots her because she waves.

Quinn waves back and they walk towards each other, and Quinn's surprised Rachel doesn't burst into song, but then they're hugging and Quinn whispers, "'We're made of star stuff.'"

Quinn feels Rachel's smile in the crook of her shoulder and she thinks of entire universes being made for her to learn about, planets and asteroids and moons. Maybe she's a satellite, she thinks, orbiting closer and closer to her destination. Landing might consist of a fatal crash, but she's pretty sure that doesn't matter right now anyway, because she's in New York and Rachel takes her hand and leads her out into the sun.

references.  
.

the quote 'we're all made of star stuff' is from carl sagan's _cosmos_.


	4. catch me racing across the skyline

summary: 'Quinn thinks of gardenias growing through her eyes, and she thinks thinks of her childhood jewelry box: open it slowly enough, and the ballerina would spin for what seemed like forever.' College!Faberry as promised. Follows canon up through s3.

an (1): here's the next update! yay! please keep reviewing because they're awesome.

an (2): title (and the lyrics rachel sings) are from gem clubs' "red arrow (john)."

* * *

four. _and before the sea came in, i knew you were the one (catch me racing across the skyline)_

...

"So Santana got really excited when I told her you were coming down this weekend, and I figured you'd want to see her, so we'll meet her for lunch—or breakfast, if you haven't eaten—as long as that's okay with you. I didn't know if—"

Quinn squeezes Rachel's hand as they walk along the busy street. "That sounds nice. I'd love to see San."

"Good. I thought so, but I just wanted to be positive that—"

"—Rachel," Quinn says softly, tugging on Rachel's hand. Quinn stops walking and Rachel turns to face her. "Don't be nervous, okay? I'm sure whatever you have planned for this entire weekend will be awesome." Rachel smiles. "But I'm really just here to see you, okay?"

Quinn sees a flash of Rachel's hair and Rachel's dress before Rachel's hugging her again, and Quinn laughs lightly into Rachel's shoulders. She closes her eyes and feels the sun, and she feels Rachel, and as the entire city moves around them—people rushing to work, cars honking, and she can smell the hotdog vendor on the corner and coffee and sewer—it's almost like she can see years from now, feeling the same feeling of importance in a place with so many people who'd never know her at all.

In school, they'd been studying "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" by William Carlos Williams, and Quinn can feel the wings she's constructing with wax, feathers sticking fleetingly to her skin, and she's sure she's going to fall, but it doesn't really matter because right now she feels like she really could fly.

.

"What's up, bitches?" Santana greets, standing from the table in the little cafe when Quinn and Rachel walk through the door. "Still aiming for the perfect blond look, I see. Disappointing. I'd thought that you'd have at _least _bought some pants by now, Q." Santana hugs Quinn tightly, though.

"Nice to see you too, Santana," Quinn says, smiling.

Santana laughs and then they all sit down around the small round table. "I ordered you a coffee, Q. And, yes, before you ask, hobbit, I ordered that disgusting combination of nonfat organic shit that you always get too."

Quinn leans forward. "You know Rachel's drinkorder?"

Santana rolls her eyes, blushing. "Only because it's disgusting."

Quinn nudges Rachel in the ribs with her elbow. "I think she actually likes being your friend."

Rachel laughs as Santana starts to protest, but then Quinn just kisses Santana's cheek. They all end up smiling and laughing over coffee and Rachel's chai latte with non-fat soy milk. They order and eat lunch—when Quinn doesn't order something with bacon, Santana and Rachel tease her, but "I don't _always _have bacon, guys," and Quinn talks about dancing with David and how she's growing to love her English classes more and more—and Santana covers the tab with a death glare as Rachel and Quinn try to protest.

When they've been there for a little over an hour, Santana sighs and stands. "Well, I have to work this afternoon, but are we still on for tomorrow morning, or—"

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "You have a standing date every Saturday morning?"

Santana punches Quinn in the shoulder—playfully, though—and Rachel says, "While it's not a 'date,' per say, yes, Santana and I do run every Saturday morning in the park. Santana is taking a dance class and so am I, so it's not ever a very intense workout, but I for one want to keep my figure, and Santana, I'm sure, does as well, because Brittany—"

"—_Berry_," Santana says.

Rachel clears her throat, turning away from Santana's glare to look at Quinn, who is grinning. "We can skip a week if you don't want to come with us, or if you don't feel—if you're still—"

Quinn smiles, standing lithely. "I'd love to come. And I'll be fine. I've been running a few times a week since, like, June, Rach."

Rachel wraps an arm around Quinn's waist and Quinn watches Santana try to hide a goofy smile behind a cough.

"When you blow a lung," Santana says, "don't expect me to stop."

.

"So this is my dresser," Rachel says, moving around the grand total of six square feet of floor space in her brightly decorated single dorm, motioning to the wooden furniture crammed next to her desk.

"Very nice," Quinn says, laughing, slipping off her shoes and bouncing as she sits down on Rachel's neatly made mattress."This place is huge. I mean, what do you do with all of this space, Rach?"

"Funny," Rachel says, sitting down next to Quinn. "You're just full of jokes, aren't you, Fabray?"

"Yep," Quinn says, leaning her head against Rachel's shoulder. "I'm thinking of a career as a standup comedian actually."

"You could be the next Ellen," Rachel says.

Quinn laughs, leaning back and lying down, swinging her legs back and forth. "And you could be my first guest. Since you'll be famous and all, you know."

Rachel's head is next to Quinn's in the next moment. "Obviously. That'll be a great start to your show."

"Mmhmm," Quinn says.

"Are you tired?" Rachel asks.

"No." Her voice is rough and husky.

Rachel laughs, sitting up and climbing over Quinn, snuggling into her pillows. She pats the space beside her. "While a nap wasn't necessarily in the schedule, I think I can move some things around."

Quinn smiles, scrambling back on her hands and knees and putting her head next to Rachel's on the pillow. Rachel smiles and Quinn wants—desperately—to kiss her, but then Rachel shifts a little and puts her head against Quinn's chest, draping her arm across Quinn's stomach.

In the cool of the tiny dorm, Rachel's skin next to her is burning, but Quinn doesn't mind shedding her wings and falling forever as long as it feels like this.

Rachel sings a slow, soft song: _We are turning in the circle of the sun; we are falling into our new forms_.

.

That night they walk around the streets near NYADA. They hold hands.

"If someone would've told me when I was fourteen that I would've been your friend now," Rachel says, paying a vendor for an ice cream cone and an Italian ice and handing the cone to Quinn, "I would've laughed at them."

"Same," Quinn says. "I might've actually slapped them."

Rachel smiles. "That didn't work, did it?"

Quinn licks her ice cream. "Not one bit."

.

That night, in their pajamas, in Rachel's room, they snuggle like earlier, because the bed is small and because all Quinn's always wanted—as Lucy, as the girl who slept with boys—is to be torn open, shaken, to be shredded apart and laid bare, to fall and fall and fall, and then to be held anyway.

The only thing that surprises her when Rachel's arms wrap around her waist as she falls asleep, her breath warm on Quinn's neck, is how gently Rachel has managed to do all of that.

.

Rachel wakes her up early, and Quinn groans. "We're going running with Santana, remember?"

Quinn nods and yawns and stretches, brushes hair from her eyes. Rachel grins.

"Is this amusing to you or something?"

"So you're not a morning person," Rachel says quietly, almost to herself.

"This is not the morning," Quinn grumbles, but she sits up anyway.

"It's six _a.m._," Rachel says.

"Jesus." Quinn slides out from under Rachel's covers, rummaging through her suitcase to find running shorts and a light jacket. "Santana actually does this with you _every week_?"

Rachel nods, stripping off her pajama top. Quinn looks away, stifling a groan, as Rachel quickly puts on a NYADA hoodie.

Rachel sits in her desk chair and puts on a pair of trainers, and Quinn gets her Nikes out of her bag.

Rachel's still smiling down at her laces, and Quinn snaps, "Why are you so happy?"

Rachel looks up and says, "You're just really cute when you're sleepy."

Quinn rolls her eyes and tries to coerce her hair into a ponytail. "I'd be even cuter asleep," she mutters.

Rachel stands, bounces up and down a few times on the balls of her feet. "That's very true."

Quinn swallows a few times and then stands. "Ready?" she asks.

Rachel nods, taking Quinn's hand. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"Right," Quinn says, but she follows Rachel without missing a step.

.

Santana's stretching by a park bench when Quinn and Rachel get to the park. It's hot and humid already, and when Rachel takes her hoodie off and ties it around her waist, Quinn does the same with her jacket. Santana already is only wearing a sports bra.

Santana elbows Quinn in the ribs and eyes the scar down her spine as Rachel bends down to stretch her hamstrings. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

Quinn nods with a small smile. The fleeting moments—her first few physical therapy sessions in the hospital, holding her up at Prom, before they danced at Nationals—when Santana manages to show tender concern always make Quinn feel whole, and happy. "I promise I'll be fine," she says.

Santana nods and then Rachel stands. Her eyes skim over Quinn's scars—and then _Quinn_—but then she says, "Shall we?"

.

Santana's apartment—where they go to take showers even though the water pressure is iffy but Rachel insists that fewer days Quinn has to to shower in a community bathroom the better (Quinn agrees)—is tiny and completely dilapidated, an eighth floor walk-up.

But it's decorated with pictures of Brittany and her family, a few of Glee club, and there are a fair number of pretty frames filled with Quinn herself.

There's a couch against one wall and Santana's bed against the other, and a kitchen table in the middle of everything, open cabinets and a fridge on another wall.

Quinn sits down, wearing one of Santana's t-shirts and her shorts she'd worn that morning, on the couch after she showers—they let her go first: Santana glares and Rachel smiles—as Santana gets some yogurt out of her fridge when Rachel goes into the bathroom, handing one to Quinn.

"This is vegan," Quinn says, reading the label as she peels off the aluminum foil top.

Santana shrugs. "Sometimes Rachel eats here after we run and if I bought non-vegan yogurt, I'd hear a never-ending lecture on the treatment of cows in dairy farms."

"You mean you _have _heard it."

"Two hours of my life I'll never get back." She holds up her own plastic container and licks the spoon. "This stuff is worth its weight in gold, Q."

Quinn laughs and then Rachel comes out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel and her cheek flushed. Santana stalks past her and slams the bathroom door, but Rachel only rummages around in a drawer for a spoon and then starts making coffee, knowing where everything is.

Quinn goes to sit at the table, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor, and Rachel sits down after the coffee starts brewing.

"So, uh," Quinn says, no idea what she's going to talk about, but then Rachel takes her hand.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to, but have you heard from Shelby lately?"

Quinn recoils from Rachel's grasp—sometimes the sun burns—and puts her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says quietly. "I didn't mean to—I just—"

"—It's—" And then the words echo in her head: "I'm not mad at you."

Quinn feels one of Rachel's hands along her back and the other prying her fingers away from her face. "Quinn, if I had a child, even if you weren't their biological mother, I would want them to know you."

Quinn doesn't hear Santana come out of the bathroom, but then Santana's hugging her on the other side, and Quinn sobs into Rachel's shoulder and Santana's ribs, and when they finally notice the burnt coffee a half an hour later, Santana just dumps the pot down the drain and says, "The coffee shop down the street has some pretty cool books you'd like, Q."

Quinn sniffles and smiles and she says, "I'd like to see those."

.

She and Rachel go back to the dorms and change and then spend the afternoon in the Met. Rachel listens patiently to Quinn in front of every painting—Frannie was an artist, and Quinn learned as much as she could so that she'd always understand when Frannie told her something—and when Quinn stands in front of a Monet and says, "I really want to go to Paris someday," Rachel takes her hand.

"You'd look beautiful in Paris," she says, and Quinn smiles.

They sit on the steps and Quinn eats a hot dog and Rachel drinks lemonade. It's sweltering, but it's the most peaceful she's felt in a really long time.

.

That night they go to a party at an apartment of one of Rachel's classmates. It's grungy and filled with cigarette smoke and a mash of bodies the loudest music she's ever heard.

It's something she's always dreamed of—_Breakfast at Tiffany's _and _Just Kids_—and she dances with Rachel for hours.

Neither of them drink that much and they leave relatively early in the night, which is actually relatively early in the morning, and walk the few blocks back to Rachel's dorm.

Quinn brushes her teeth in the bathroom while Rachel changes.

She flies closer and closer to the sun. The feathers are on her arms, and she thinks about kissing Rachel, but when she walks back into the tiny room, Rachel is curled up in bed, already asleep.

Quinn smiles softly and climbs behind her, wraps her up as if she's been doing it forever, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

And in a way, she thinks it kind of is.

.

Quinn wakes up in the morning alone in bed. It's 9:42, and she hears Rachel just outside of the door, talking.

When Quinn stumbles from the bed and out into the hallway, Rachel waves from where she's sitting on the floor, criss-cross applesauce, still in her pajamas. Her phone is pressed to her ear, and she says, "Finn, did I tell you that Quinn is visiting me this weekend?"

And then Quinn swallows and tries to remember to breathe, ignores the pounding pressure that springs behind her eyes, just like every time she saw them together in high school.

Rachel puts her fingers over the bottom of the phone and whispers, "He only gets a few calls a month at basic training. Sorry."

But Rachel smiles and Rachel keeps talking to him.

She remembers getting back to Finn's house after school ended, the day after her father had kicked her out. There had been two boxes filled with her stuff sitting on the front porch, a note from her father that said _I don't expect you coming back_.

So Quinn looks at Rachel and says, "I—I just remembered—I have to go."

Quinn goes back into Rachel's room and stuffs her clothes into her bag, changes as fast as she can. She hears Rachel tell Finn that she has to go, and then Rachel comes in the room.

"I—I thought you said you could stay until this afternoon and—I really just wanted to show you where I'm going to get to perform—" Rachel's voice is shaky, high-pitched.

Quinn turns and slings her bag over her shoulder. She doesn't feel angry.

She feels sad and she feels stupid, and she says, "I'm sorry, Rachel."

She'd carried the boxes from Finn's front porch to her tiny room and never opened them because she'd hoped her parents would apologize and take everything back.

They hadn't.

Quinn drowns.

.

Santana _shhhs_ Quinn, strokes her hair as Quinn curls up in Santana's messy bed.

"I just feel so stupid," Quinn mumbles. "We hold hands and we spoon and I just—I'm going to fucking Yale and what the hell does she possibly see in him?"

Santana rubs Quinn's back. "The hell if I know, Q. But I've seen the way she looks at you, and, like me and Britt—maybe you just need to give her a little time."

Quinn sighs, then sits up a little so she can see Santana. "I just can't be Icarus anymore."

Santana tilts her head. "What?"

"The Greek myth, you know, where the boy—Icarus—makes wings for himself to fly to the sun. He makes them out of wax and feathers, and they work until he flies too close to the sun because then they melt and he falls into the ocean." Quinn rubs her nose. "Rachel's the sun."

"Well, did you ever think that Rachel could be something else?"

"Like what?"

Santana shrugs. "The ocean."

"Why?"

"It seems like she always catches you after you fall."

* * *

references. i mention the myth of icarus, so if you want, check out william carlos williams' "landscape with the fall of icarus" because it's beautiful.

(also, i solemnly swear that this is a faberry story and that i despise finn hudson and also finchel. don't even worry, i just feel like they need to be addressed if i'm being fair to rachel's s3 canon. but they will not, under any circumstances, end up together. i just need you to be sure. :) thank you again for everything x)


	5. she gave up the ghost inside

an (1): this is my favourite update so far. i hope you guys like it too! :) (also, quinn's sister is in this, and if you want to read more about her, i wrote 'like a father to impress,' which is basically her headcanon involving quinn.) anyway, keep reviewing and everything because you're lovely.

an (2): title from broken bells' "the ghost inside." quinn sings mumford and sons' "sigh no more" if you're interested.

...

five. _she gave up the ghost inside_

.

"You're moping," David says, sitting down at the coffee table Quinn has managed to cover with a few books and notebooks as well as her laptop.

He hands Quinn a cup of tea. "I was an idiot in New York," she says, taking the lid off.

David smirks. "So you kissed her then?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Not even close."

David hands Quinn cream.

"Now you're moping," Quinn says, watching the cream spring to life throughout her tea.

"I wanted you to kiss her and have hot lesbian sex because I have a feeling you'd be more fun if you were happily in love. Like _Sabrina_."

Quinn laughs. "Audrey is the best still though. Right now if I was making a souffle, I'd forget to turn the oven on. A woman unhappily in love."

David pats Quinn's shoulder. "So, fair lady, what happened?"

Quinn tells him: about how she and Rachel held hands and each other, how Santana and Rachel were friends, how bright and vibrant and _Rachel _she seemed, and then Quinn tells him about Finn.

David purses his lips. "And then you just left?"

Quinn nods. "I couldn't—"

"Oh, honey," David says, "did you ever think that maybe she and this Finn—your names rhyme, did you know that?—are still just friends?"

"I just—" Quinn's voice breaks and she closes her eyes so she won't cry. "I want her so badly. But it's like catching a ghost."

David frowns and then offers Quinn a bite of his brownie. "You can cry. If you want."

Quinn takes a deep breath, then laughs a little, opens her eyes. The brownie is good. "Now I just feel like an idiot because she has no idea about any of it and she probably just thinks I'm mad at her."

"Are you?"

"No," Quinn says. "No. I'm not mad. I mean, she didn't do anything wrong."

"It's just confusing, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I understand." David scoots his chair closer and hugs Quinn to him with one arm when her face starts to crumple again. "Do you want to be a part of her life, no matter what?"

"Absolutely." There is no question or hesitation for Quinn in this.

David nods. "Have you talked to her since then?"

"I texted her that I got here safely, but no. She's mad at me."

David kisses the top of Quinn's head. "How do we grovel your way back into her heart, then? Paris, the rain, never, ever carry a brief case?"

Quinn grins. "Singing. Rachel's a feelings-through-song whore."

David laughs. "Well, then, we have a song to pick."

.

That night Quinn dreams of glass walls and glass ceilings and the air growing so hot inside that the walls crack under the expanding pressure, splintering and dissolving in waterfalls of temperance.

She recognizes the tinkling noises from car accidents, but this time it also sounds like singing.

When everything has crashed down around her, when the walls and ceiling lay on the floor, dazzling in heaps that remind her of piles of diamonds, Quinn walks from her place in the middle of the glass house. Her feet are bare and there is blood all over the glass, but the red reminds her of rubies. It doesn't hurt.

At the end of her dream there is a dock. She can't feel her legs but this time it doesn't scare her, and when she jumps into the blue of the ocean, she dives down for as long as she can.

Things get blurry but she doesn't panic. She just breathes in lungfuls of water and watches the swirling red of her blood float up all around her.

She hears pounding in her ears. Waves, ghosts, sirens, she doesn't know, but she sees the moon far above her.

She wakes up and she can't decide if it was a nightmare or not, but Santana's words ring in her head: _Maybe Rachel's the ocean. She always seems to catch you after you fall._

_._

When Quinn gets back from her class on Wednesday afternoon, Hazel flings a large envelope at her. "You've got mail," she says in an automated voice.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You're bizarre," she says, reading her sister's name on the front of the package with a smile.

Hazel sits up from bed and walks over to Quinn, peeking over her shoulder. "What's it say?"

"I haven't opened it yet."

"Get on it, then, Lucy Quinn," Hazel says, then smiles when Quinn glares.

"I should've never told you that," Quinn grumbles, sliding her finger to rip the seal.

Hazel pats the top of Quinn's head. "It's cute, Lucy."

Quinn shakes her head and tries to hide a little smile, because Hazel is laughing and the name from her teasing lips holds no malice. She pulls out a sheet of paper folded in thirds, and there's something tucked in the middle.

Quinn unfolds it and then reads:

_What's up, little sis? I heard you, one proud Yale student, were in need of a little cheering up (I promised I told Santana I wouldn't tell you that, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her). Anyway, here's a round trip ticket to come see Robert and I over fall break in San Francisco. You can go shopping for all the vintage dresses your little heart could ever possibly desire, promise. And you should probably get a haircut soon, so you can do that if you want to as well. And I'll even let you taste wine at dinner if you behave yourself. _

_I love you so much, Quinn. I can't wait to see you._

_Love,_

_Frannie x_

_P.S. And the ticket is for Southwest because I figured you didn't need to fly first class. Don't worry about money, either. Mom paid for some of this, but I wasn't supposed to tell you that either._

Quinn simultaneously wants to laugh and cry, and Hazel takes the ticket gently from her hands and reads it.

"Lucky duck," she says. "I love the bay area."

Quinn settles on smiling and Hazel hands the ticket back. "I'm going to tell her."

"What?"

"My sister. I'm going to come out to my sister."

"Well, you'll be in San Francisco. I think that's a stellar plan because while you're there you can feel uninhibited to then hit on hot girls."

Quinn laughs. "Exactly."

Hazel sits down on the edge of Quinn's bed. "Seriously, though, I think you're just super strong."

Quinn sits next to Hazel. "Thanks."

Hazel shakes her head. They're quiet for a few seconds before Hazel says, "C'mon, Lucy Quinn. Let's go get dinner."

.

They lie on the floor of David's dorm. "How about a Fleetwood Mac song?" Hazel asks.

Quinn shakes her head. "We already did those in high school."

David hits himself over the head with his iPhone. "Did you sing every song _ever _in high school?"

Quinn shakes her head, the lights on the ceiling streaking across her vision. "Only every single lame one."

Just then, Marcus walks in, and Quinn hears his footsteps stop as soon as she's sure he sees them. "Is this some weird orgy, or can I come in?"

Hazel says, "If this is an orgy, I'm out."

David laughs. "We're trying to find a song to help Quinn apologize to a girl she likes who lives in New York because Quinn acted like an idiot when she was there and now they're not talking."

Marcus sits down next to Hazel. "Is she hot?"

Quinn blushes.

David says, "Yep. Quinn also says that the pictures she's shown me don't do her justice."

Marcus nods. "I'm in then."

Hazel rolls her eyes. "Also, you should know that Quinn and this girl—"

"—Her name is Rachel, guys—"

"—Were in glee club together in high school."

"And they sang every 'lame'—" David air quotes— "song in it."

Marcus puts his chin in his hand seriously. "How about 'Sigh No More' by Mumford and Sons? He's my name buddy."

David and Hazel look to Quinn. She runs through the lyrics in her head. "That's perfect."

Hazel gives Marcus a high-five and David puts his head in his hands. "Mumford and Sons? That's all it would've taken?"

Quinn sits up, gives Marcus a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Marcus frowns. "It's really not fair that I just found a song to help you get with another girl and _then _you kiss me."

Quinn laughs, standing. "She's hot, remember?"

.

Quinn talks to Santana on Thursday. "I'm going out to San Francisco this weekend to see Frannie."

"Are you—"

"Yeah. I'm going to."

Santana's voice is quiet and serious. "That's so great, Q."

Quinn says, "I'm scared."

"From personal experience, nothing I say right now is going to make you less scared."

Quinn laughs. "Thanks."

"But, Quinn, you know I'll be here no matter what, right? Okay? I need you to know that." Santana sounds like she's on the verge of tears.

Quinn cries. "I know. I know, San."

Santana takes a deep, rattling breath. "Go be brave. And, Q?"

"What?"

"Talk to Rachel. Please? She's been ridiculous this whole week and if you thought normal Berry was annoying—"

"—I'm Skyping her right after you hang up," Quinn says.

"So she gets to Skype and you only _call _me? I see how this is."

Quinn laughs. "I have to sing her something."

"God," Santana says. "I really hope you two never actually get together because Lord knows you'll be the most irritating couple in the history of the world."

"You don't mean that."

"I do. Completely."

Quinn takes a deep breath. "I'll call you after I tell Frannie, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Bye, San."

"Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

.

It takes four tries for Rachel to answer Quinn's call on Skype, but when she does, Quinn thinks she looks tired.

Quinn thinks of oceans and cascades of glass. "Hi," she says.

Rachel sighs. "Hello."

Quinn bites her bottom lip. "I know we have a lot to talk about, and I'm—"

"—Save it," Rachel says. "The next time you want to use me for a few days and then just leave without saying goodbye, you can—"

"Wait," Quinn says.

Rachel raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"Please, just, I—I have a song to sing for you," Quinn says, and she blushes when she notices the corners of Rachel's lips turn upwards slightly.

"I don't think that's—"

Quinn takes a deep breath and sings:

_Serve God, love me and men. _

_This is not the end._

_Live unbruised, we are friends._

_And I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Quinn watches Rachel put a hand against her mouth. "Quinn."

"Let me finish," Quinn says. And she smiles. She sings the next verse—_My heart was never pure, and you know me_—and the bridge and then:

_Love, it will not betray you, dismay, or enslave you._

_It will set you free._

_Be more like the man you were made to be._

_There is a design, an alignment, a cry, _

_Of my heart to see_

_The beauty of love as it was made to be._

Rachel cries as Quinn finishes, wiping a few tears away from her face. "I was—"

"—I forgive you," Rachel says.

Quinn laughs. "All it took was one song? You're too easy, Berry."

"If you haven't noticed, I happen to find it difficult to stay mad at you for extended periods of time."

Quinn says, "Yeah. I've noticed. I really am sorry about last weekend though."

"Why'd you leave?"

Quinn remembers glass houses and ghosts. "You know how I feel about you and Finn," she says simply, because over Skype and in her dorm is not how she plans to tell Rachel everything (_everything_).

Rachel looks down, nods. "I know and—we're not together, you know. Not that it's any of your business," Rachel adds.

Quinn nods, fighting down the high tide of painful hope in her chest. "I—That's good. But that's not why I wanted to talk to you tonight."

"Oh." Rachel's brows knit together. "Okay."

Quinn rubs her nose. "I, um, I'm leaving tomorrow to see Frannie in San Francisco for the weekend, and I—" Quinn's eyes burn with tears now— "I know that you said if I ever came out to my family that you'd be there, and I need—I can't—I won't be able to tell her if you're—"

"Quinn," Rachel says, and it's soft and gentle and reminds Quinn of the times she'd woken up in the hospital under rolling seas of pain, when Rachel's face was blurry and when she couldn't breathe right. "Of course I'll be here. You're so important to me. No stupid, rude thing you do will change that."

Quinn sniffles. "Thank you," she says, her voice rough. "I'm really scared."

"Do you understand how brave you're being?"

Quinn wipes her wet cheeks, shakes her head a little.

"Well, you are. So brave. Like, I might have to sing to properly express how brave."

Quinn laughs.

Rachel smiles. "I promise I will be right here."

"You have no idea how much that means to me."

Rachel puts her hand to the screen. "I love you a lot."

Quinn presses her fingers against where Rachel's is. The screen is warm and more of Icarus' feathers melt from her skin. "I love you too, Rach."

Rachel says, "And Quinn?"

"What?"

"I missed your voice."

.

On the flight to San Francisco, Quinn falls asleep. She dreams, but this time, the floor is glass, and when it shatters, Quinn drops straight into the ocean.

She's bleeding all over in this version, her blood rich and violently red, the edge of a ghost swirling around her. She looks up and she sinks down and she doesn't fight.

She doesn't close her eyes because the moon this time is closer and more vivid, and when she wakes up, she can't decide if it was because she didn't fall as far or if the moon is in a different phase entirely.

.

Frannie hugs her at the airport, squeezes her tightly and then takes Quinn's suitcase.

"Walking like an old person isn't fashionable on the West Coast, you know," she says, but her green eyes are concerned. She has on pink skinny jeans and a grey Bob Dylan t-shirt, her short hair combed neatly to the side.

"Sitting for that long makes me stiff," Quinn says, and Frannie just squeezes her hand with a sad smile.

"Well, Robert is at home, slaving away over a wonderful dinner, so you can eat that and then take as many meds as you need. What happens in San Francisco stays in San Francisco, right?"

Quinn laughs. "Exactly."

They take a cab to Frannie and Robert's apartment in the Mission. The sun is setting and the fog makes everything cold, but Quinn thinks of her favourite noirs and doesn't once think to question again why Frannie had fallen in love with the city.

There's an elevator at Frannie's apartment, but Frannie says it's broken and Quinn doesn't think to argue because it looks terrifying, so they walk up ten flights of stairs and then Frannie unlocks her door.

Their apartment is beautiful and cramped, drenched in the setting sun through west-facing windows in the living room. The walls are painted a simple, light blue and the floors are dark mahogany. The furniture is a mismatch of vintage things, but it's charming and perfect. It smells like oranges and Robert yells, "Quinn!" when they walk in, hurrying to give her a hug.

"Hi, Robert," she says, then tugs at the tied string of his apron. "This is a good look for you."

"Gender roles in society are harmful," he says, "because, let me tell you, your sister is a horrendous cook."

"I am not," Frannie says.

Robert goes back to into the little kitchen and stirs what smells like an alfredo sauce. _She is_, he mouths, and Quinn nods with a smile.

"Come here, Quinn," Frannie says, directing Quinn away from the bright kitchen and living room and into a little bedroom. "Our room is right over there." Frannie points over her shoulder. "And I'm pretty sure this was actually a closet, but we fit a bed in here, and it'll be better than the couch, so—"

Quinn hugs Frannie tightly and says, "It's perfect."

Frannie laughs a little. "You're too easy to please."

Quinn backs up and shakes her head. "No. I mean, I'm just really happy to be here."

Frannie smiles, kisses Quinn's forehead. "I'm happy you're here too."

.

Dinner is wonderful and Robert—with his blue eyes and scruff and brown hair and perfect, large-framed glasses—is perfect with Frannie.

They have glasses of (expensive) red wine, and then coffee and dessert, and then they just talk and talk, and Quinn tells them how much she's enjoying her English classes and how she's going to write a screenplay for one of her theatre classes.

It's late and dark by the time they say goodnight.

That night, Quinn dreams of huge glass skyscrapers tumbling with ease. They shatter when stones hit them, and Quinn is inside and Quinn is drowning peacefully in the ocean.

Quinn is also the one throwing stones.

.

In the morning, Frannie and Robert are already awake and making breakfast together—Frannie is singing an old Ella Fitzgerald song and Robert dances in the middle of the kitchen—when Quinn stumbles out of her room.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Frannie says, grabbing Quinn's hand and spinning her around. Quinn laughs.

They are _happy. _She sings along.

.

Quinn gets more nervous as breakfast goes on, even though Robert is a wonderful cook and he makes her bacon even though both he and Frannie are vegetarian. Quinn tries to remember that she's come out to people before, and she tries to remember how accepting Frannie and Robert seem.

But it's houses crumbling and Quinn knows that sometimes they need to fall—empires, glass castles—for real, solid things to be built.

"Fran," she says, "I—Can we talk? I'm sorry, Robert, but, I—"

Robert nods and Quinn _swears _he gives Frannie a knowing smile. "I should pick up those books from the office anyway," he says, then kisses Frannie quickly, grabs a light jacket and his keys, and then shuts the front door with a wave.

Frannie scoots a little closer to Quinn. Frannie takes Quinn's hand on top of the table. "What's up?" she asks gently.

Quinn is sweating and her heart is racing and this time she fights the ocean all around her.

But then Frannie says, "Hey. I love you. No matter what, okay?"

Quinn swallows. "I want to tell you something because I want you to know me. You're the first person in our family that I'm going to tell."

Frannie nods. Her features are gentle. "That means a lot to me."

Quinn takes a deep breath. "I, um, I'm gay."

Frannie smiles gently and then she just hugs Quinn. Quinn feels like she can breathe better than she ever has before, and Frannie murmurs gentle reassurances into Quinn's hair.

Frannie sits back and she's been crying too. "Thank you so much for telling me. I'm super proud of you. I love you so much."

Quinn hugs Frannie again. "I love you too."

Frannie wipes Quinn's tears. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

Quinn smiles a little, then shakes her head. "I like someone, though. A lot."

Frannie raises an eyebrow. "You do?"

Quinn flushes. "Rachel."

"What?" Frannie says dramatically. "Rachel? I _never_ would've guessed."

Quinn laughs and shoves Frannie playfully.

"You have the most adorable crush face, you know. I saw it."

Quinn sniffles with a happy roll of her eyes.

"C'mon," Frannie says, tugging on Quinn's hand and pulling her up. "Let's go shopping and to the salon and all that fun stuff. You need to get your girl."

"Thanks for being awesome," Quinn says.

"You need to work on your pickup lines, Quinn."

Quinn laughs and Frannie bumps her hip playfully, and then she says, "You're pretty awesome too, though."

And Quinn remembers her dreams. She realizes that tearing down facades is important. Bleeding and drowning and destructing fragile fronts—glass house after glass house—is the only way to exist.

They spend all day exploring the city and shopping and Quinn goes to Frannie's fancy salon. It feels nothing like New York a few years ago at Nationals when she cuts her hair, because this time she's not fragile and she's not breaking.

She's falling and she breathes new air and she's not fighting any longer.

Robert meets them for lunch at a perfect little cafe and tells her, "You look _beautiful_, Quinn," and Frannie smiles when he holds her hand.

She finds a dress with tiny little animals printed on it at a vintage place that Frannie takes her to that afternoon, and she wears it when they go to the Bridge.

There's the sea and the wind. The fog rolls away and then there's the sun and then the moon, hazy, just over the horizon.

They walk down and sit on the shore, and then she tells him too.

He merely smiles and tells her that it's cool with him, and Quinn breathes deeper again.

Frannie holds her hand and Quinn rests her head on Robert's shoulder, and she feels so tangible. She is no ghost after all.

Quinn throws a stone out into the ocean and watches the ripple multiply the reflection of the moon.

...

references.

the audrey hepburn film quinn and david talk about is _sabrina. _it's my favourite.


	6. breakers in my lungs

an (1): this is kind of a filler but also deals with a ton of stuff. anyway, yeah, review and keep being magickal and lovely and everything. x

an (2): title from gem club's "breakers." rachel may or may not sing "bella" by angus and julia stone, so give that a go :)

* * *

six. _breakers in my lungs (the graceless years are gone)_

.

It's October 20th at 3:42 pm when Quinn's phone dings to tell her that she has an email. She's in the library working on an essay for one of her classes, curled up in a chair because her back was a little sore from dancing with David earlier that morning.

She thinks it's probably nothing—something her mom wanted to show her, or another scholarship opportunity, or one of fifty coupons from various places she shopped—but her breath catches when she sees _Shelby Cocoran_.

The subject says, _Hello, Quinn._

Quinn remembers the shoebox in her room with little trinkets for Beth in it, things Quinn had saved from childhood.

She'd left it in Ohio, under her bed.

So she presses to open the email. She doesn't know if it's inviting ghosts or expelling them.

_Quinn,_

_How is school going? I heard from Noah that you're attending Yale. I hope you're having a wonderful time in New Haven and enjoying your classes and new friends._

_I've moved back to just outside of New York. Beth loves it here and she's currently working on learning her alphabet and numbers, but she really just loves to play. Roaring like a lion is her favourite noise—she'll do it for hours._

_I know this is hard, and, while you have certainly not been the most steady force in her life thus far, I really want you to be involved with her. I know you've been through a lot this year, and I'm sure it hasn't been easy. I hope you've grown through everything, and, from what Noah tells me, it seems like you have._

_I don't know how often, if at all, you come down to the city, but I'd really like you to see Beth if you want. I'm sure you're very busy, but it's up to you. She deserves to know you._

_Please let me know._

_Best, _

_Shelby_

Quinn reads the email a few times. She feels glass crumbling and wax melting off her skin, but this time she remembers soft skin and _her _eyes, blond curls and the drape of small limbs over her shoulder, how her heart had ached.

She doesn't cry, but she wants to. Beth makes her—has made her—want to do anything to stop the terrible rush of pain and guilt and regret that envelops her (she thinks of actual letters, everything she'd ever written and _return to sender_ stamped on the front).

In the past she never talked about it. She _did _hurt herself, over and over again.

"Mom," she says when Judy picks up on the second ring.

"Hi, honey. What are you doi—"

"—Shelby emailed me," Quinn says. Her voice cracks.

"Oh," Judy says. "What—Are you okay?"

Quinn sniffles a few times. "Yeah. She wants me to see Beth the next time I'm in New York."

"That's good, right? You want to do that?"

"Yeah." Quinn laughs quietly. "Yeah, I want to see her."

Judy's quiet for a few seconds, but then she says, "She's going to fall in love with you."

"You have to say that."

"It's true."

"You're my _mom_."

Judy laughs. "Yes. But who wouldn't fall in love with you?"

Quinn thinks of her father.

Judy says, quieter, more seriously, "Quinnie, you deserve to have this little girl in your life if you want her to be."

Quinn's eyes fill with more tears. She tries to remember how far away the sun is from the earth and she tries to remember how deep the ocean is. "Thank you."

Judy asks, "Is it going to hurt too much?"

Quinn takes a deep breath. "Not too much."

.

"I had a kid."

Hazel's head pops up from where she'd been intently making chemistry flashcards on her bed. "No. You did _not_."

Quinn smiles a little. "I did. A baby girl."

"But you look like—and you're a—"

Quinn arches an eyebrow and climbs off of her bed. She hands Hazel a picture of she and Beth in the hospital, then one of Beth playing with Quinn's (old) phone.

"She's almost two and a half now," Quinn says. "Her name is Beth. I gave her up for adoption."

Hazel stares at the pictures for a few seconds. "She looks just like you."

Quinn lets out a quick breath of air then looks away.

Hazel looks at Quinn. "Do you get to see her?"

"I didn't for a while. I was—I was really messed up. I mean, it was—" Quinn shakes her head. "But her mom, Shelby, emailed me today and asked if I wanted to visit them when I go down to New York soon."

"And you said yes?"

"I said yes."

Hazel smiles. "She's beautiful."

"She is."

Quinn collects the pictures and puts them back in the top drawer of her desk.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever—you said you were messed up."

"Yeah."

"Are you, um, better? I mean, I don't—it's okay—"

Quinn shrugs. "I think I'll always be a little messed up because of lots of stuff. But, yeah, I'm better." Quinn tugs back her duvet and climbs into her bed.

That night her dreams are full of Beth, a ghost inside of the sun, but she's beautiful and Quinn doesn't mind at all when she burns up and crashes to the ocean below, through layers and layers of glass. She bleeds and bleeds each and every time, but when her blood swirls around her in the air, Beth smiles from her position in the sky.

.

"We're here to run damage control if Quinn needs to abort the mission," Santana says, huddled over her coffee cup in a Starbucks a few minutes away from Shelby's apartment.

"Quinn won't need to 'abort the mission,' Santana," Rachel snaps. "We're here in case Quinn needs support afterward."

Santana rolls her eyes. "We're not fucking training bras, Berry. We're here in case Q gets a case of the crazies again and goes bat shit."

Rachel puts her arm against Quinn's. "She doesn't mean that, Quinn."

Santana nods. "Quinn doesn't need a training bra, obviously."

"_Santana_," Rachel scolds.

Quinn laughs. "Thank you for being here. My code name will be 'Falcon,'" she says, then checks her watch, standing to leave.

Santana presses her forehead into her hands and says, "That's the worst codename _ever_," as Rachel waves frantically.

"Good luck, Quinn," she yells as Quinn walks out the door.

Quinn clutches the small lion stuffed animal in her hand, but she doesn't feel as nervous as she had on the train ride down. It's rainy today, so she pulls up the collar on her trench, her riding boots sloshing in the puddles. Tomorrow is halloween, so there are gravestones stuck into the small yards, spiderwebs spread between trees and collecting perfectly preserved raindrops. Quinn sees the small house—with a white picket fence, and a ghost hanging from the tree, a jack-o-lantern smiling simply from the steps leading up the front door—and she takes a deep breath. She looks presentable, she knows that, because her hair is short and neat and blond, and her jeans and sweater and scarf are simple and pretty and normal.

But she also _feels_ presentable, more than anything.

She rings the doorbell, and Shelby answers, Beth trailing along behind her, dragging a blanket on the ground.

"Hi, Quinn," Shelby greets, opening the screen door and ushering Quinn inside.

Beth looks up at her but doesn't shrink away, and then she says, "Quinn?"

Quinn remembers the respiratory exercises she'd done with her physical therapist, because hearing _her _name from her child's lips is up there on the list of things that might actually make her stop breathing.

"Hi, Beth," she says, then crouches down. Her back pops a number of times but Quinn offers Beth the little stuffed lion.

Beth, Quinn learns, has dimples. "Mine?"

Quinn nods, and Beth takes it with a squeal.

"Roar," she says, making growling noises and making the little lion dance in the air.

Quinn stands and Shelby says, "What do you say, Beth?"

Beth looks at Shelby, then at Quinn, and says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Quinn says, and she almost starts crying.

Shelby seems to notice and she puts a hand on the small of Quinn's back, ushering her into the pretty living room, full of toys.

Quinn takes her trench off and sits on the couch, and Shelby sits next to her. Beth plays at their feet, telling a little nonsensical story too quiet for Quinn to hear.

"You seem good, Quinn."

"Thanks," Quinn says.

Shelby nods. "And you're liking Yale? Feeling okay?"

"Yale's awesome."

Shelby smiles. "I think this is going to be good for all of us."

"Me too," Quinn says, and they spend the next hour talking and playing with Beth. Beth's eyes—Quinn's eyes—get big when Quinn sings the ABCs, and then it's Beth's afternoon nap time so she starts to get fussy.

Quinn leaves with a soft, (painful) kiss to Beth's forehead, who stops crying, and a hug with Shelby.

"Thanks for this," Quinn says.

Shelby shakes her head. "I always said it'd be up to you, and it seems like you're the kind of person my child should know."

Quinn steps into the rain so Shelby won't see her cry. She waves, and Beth waves back, and as Quinn walks out of the yard, past the ghost in the tree, she hears Beth say sleepily, "Quinn looks like me."

"She does," Shelby says.

.

"It meant everything," Quinn tells Santana and Rachel.

They simultaneously hug her, and Santana says, "Mission accomplished, Falcon."

"_Santana_," Rachel scolds.

Quinn laughs messily through her tears.

.

"Are you sure you should be smoking that?"

Quinn turns her head lazily to look at Rachel walking towards her post on the sidewalk outside of the loud building. "Absolutely. I'm a thousand percent sure I shouldn't be."

Rachel leans back against the wall next to Quinn, leaning slightly against her shoulder. She's wearing a costume—that not _really _a costume—as Barbra Streissand, but since they got to the party, Quinn notes Rachel's lost her jacket.

"I'm not actually smoking it," Quinn admits, flicking the cigarette with a motion that comes back strangely. She has no desire to put it between her lips, but she likes holding it in her fingers.

Rachel smiles towards the ground, but Quinn doesn't miss it. "Why are you holding a lit cigarette then?"

Quinn shrugs. "I'm dressed as Grace Kelly. I figured it fit. Help add authenticity to the whole shebang."

Rachel laughs loudly and Quinn tries to remember how much alcohol she drank in the past few hours—she said _shebang_, which must mean she's decently drunk—and then Rachel asks, "Are you having fun at the party?"

"I like meeting more of your friends. Jamie's especially fun."

"Best gay," Rachel agrees. "He's awesome."

Quinn nods.

Then Rachel looks at Quinn for a few seconds before whispering, "You're beautiful."

The smoke swirls around them—blood in oceans, phantoms—and Quinn wants to kiss Rachel.

But they're drunk, and it's Halloween and they're standing on a street corner in New York, so she doesn't. Instead, Quinn asks (quietly, because the moon is full and she's afraid), "Do you still love him?"

Rachel steps away from the wall and turns a little so she's facing Quinn. "Who?"

"Finn."

"Oh," Rachel says. "Yes."

Quinn takes a long drag of the cigarette.

Then Rachel purses her lips. Quinn holds her breath, all of the smoke swirling in her lungs. She starts to get lightheaded but then Rachel says, "But I'm not _in love _with him. Not anymore."

Quinn breathes out the ghosts, and they swirl up to the sky, past the glint of buildings and towards the moon.

"Come on," Rachel says, taking Quinn's hand. "It's getting cold."

Quinn throws the cigarette into a puddle and lets Rachel lead her back inside.

.

When she wakes up the next morning in Santana's apartment, and holding Rachel to her desperately in Santana's bed, she feels the remnants of tears on her cheeks.

Rachel's eyes are open.

"You were crying," Rachel says, reaching a hand to Quinn's cheek. Her touch sends shivers through Quinn's entire body, and they're still dressed as Barbra Streisand and Grace Kelly, and everything around Quinn smells like smoke.

"I dreamed of Beth," Quinn whispers, and it's hung over and still sleepy, and it sounds sad but it sounds hopeful, too.

Then Santana opens the door and stomps into the apartment, throwing an umbrella on the coatrack by the door and putting a paper bag on the table, then three cups of coffee. "Rise and shine, love birds. Vegan hangover remedies galore for Streisand here."

Rachel smiles softly and Quinn groans, but then Rachel pries herself away from Quinn's grasp and stands, arm outstretched.

Quinn takes it and teeters out of bed, most of her joints making noise, and Rachel looks concerned.

Santana raises her eyebrows but then Quinn shakes her head. Santana says, "Grace Kelly, the back of your head is ridiculous," and this time, even Rachel laughs.

.

The first few weeks of November go quickly. Quinn can't decide if it's because classes are getting exponentially more busy—she kind of likes it, though, but only admits it quietly and late at night on the phone to Rachel, never to Santana—or if it's because she's just getting more and more tired and things seem to move faster because of that.

She hasn't been down to New York since Halloween, and Rachel's busy rehearsing her audition for a show, so she hasn't been able to make a trip up to New Haven. But they text and call and Skype, and they talk about how Quinn wants to come out to Judy over Thanksgiving break. They talk about how scared she is but also how she wants to because Judy is important enough in her life, and also because Quinn feels like she has a solid support system if Judy reacts poorly. They talk about how Quinn felt when she told Frannie, and how relieved and wonderful and free she felt after Frannie had been fantastic, and Quinn says that, knowing that, she wants that same feeling with Judy, too.

They say I love you.

The leaves on the trees are now every colour of red imaginable, skimming the ground and twirling in the air, and Quinn walks back to her dorm after class, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck and shoving her bare hands into her pockets, huddling against the wind. She coughs as she goes up the stairs but doesn't really think anything of it.

As soon as she gets in her room, she takes off her coat and her boots and her jeans and puts on a pair of sweatpants and one of Rachel's NYADA sweatshirts (but only because it doesn't have a hood and maybe also because it smells like Rachel), then climbs into bed. It's Monday afternoon, and she only has one more day of classes before she gets to go home.

She falls asleep and her dreams are on fire. The sun scorches her skin and she sits in glass boxes suspended in the air before they explode all around her just as it seems like the pressure is too great to breathe.

When she wakes up, she feels sick. It's dark and Hazel's in the other bed, and Quinn tries to move from under her covers quietly because she's pretty sure she's going to throw up, and it feels like someone's jabbed needles into every inch of her lungs.

She starts coughing and walks away from her bed as quickly as possible, and Hazel sits up just as Quinn makes it out of the room and into the bathroom, kneeling in front of a toilet, and she starts throwing up mostly coffee and a few energy bars. Hazel's hands are on her back and then Hazel's hands are in her hair, and after an indeterminate amount of time, Quinn finally stops.

"You think you're done?" Hazel asks softly.

Quinn nods, and she wants to cry.

Hazel helps her up and wets a paper towel, handing it to Quinn before wrapping her arm around her waist, because Quinn sways on her feet.

Quinn feels entirely discombobulated, and when she feels the cool, rough paper in her hand, she can't remember how it got there.

"Quinn," Hazel says, and her voice sounds worried, even to Quinn.

"Hmmm?"

"Let's go back to our room."

"Kay," Quinn says, and she shuffles with Hazel's help back to her bed. "I'm tired," she says, and then she coughs again until she can't breathe and the scar along her ribs is burning.

Hazel puts a hand on Quinn's shoulder and Quinn thinks she looks really, really concerned, but Quinn feels awful and hazy, so she doesn't brush it away.

"Let me take your temperature," Hazel says, and Quinn vaguely wonders where Hazel had gotten a thermometer from, but she holds it in her mouth without protest.

When it beeps, Hazel takes it and Quinn watches her eyes get big. "102.5. Jesus, Quinn."

Quinn blinks a few times and thinks she might need to throw up again.

"We need to go to the hospital," Hazel says. "This isn't the flu."

Quinn doesn't bother to respond because she's pretty sure Hazel's not talking to her anyway, more to herself, because Hazel's collecting her purse and then slipping a pair of black TOMS on Quinn's feet, then situating Quinn's glasses against her nose. Hazel grabs Quinn's wallet and then Quinn's phone, and then helps Quinn into a warm coat.

"I have pneumonia," Quinn informs Hazel sleepily.

"Do you?" Hazel asks, opening the door and linking her arm with Quinn's.

"Yep," Quinn says, then coughs. "I've had it before and I think maybe it felt like this."

"You definitely have something," Hazel says, and walks down the stairs patiently. Quinn thinks that it takes much too long and that she'd just rather sit down and sleep, but her chest hurts and things are blurry and her stomach feels awful and she's freezing and then hot.

Hazel leads her outside the dorm and then to the parking lot, where Marcus and David are waiting in gold Civic, which Quinn is pretty sure is Marcus's.

"When did you call them?" Quinn asks as Hazel stuffs her into the backseat, then closes the door. A few seconds later she's climbing in the other side, and she lets Quinn lean against her as Marcus starts driving.

"After I took your temperature," Hazel says.

"I don't remember that," Quinn says,

David says, "Oh, Quinn," and turns and pats Quinn's leg.

She feels it just fine, and Marcus says, "Just don't puke in my car and all will be forgiven," and Quinn doesn't even feel scared.

.

Somewhere between getting into the Emergency Room and Quinn telling a triage nurse that she'd had a thoracotomy in February, she gets put into a room right away.

Hazel helps her change into a gown and then Quinn insists on the comfy socks, so Hazel helps her put those on, too.

Someone comes in and starts an IV, and then things hurt much less and Quinn feels less sick and more sleepy. She answers as many questions as possible when a doctor comes in, and then they do a portable chest X-ray—which she's sure of only because the machine is loud and they tell her multiple times to stay still—and then the same doctor comes back a little while later and says, "You have pneumonia, Quinn, and your left lung is pretty full of fluid, so we're going to keep you here overnight to make sure the meds we give you help it start resolving."

She nods, but she mainly looks to Hazel, who smiles gently and says, "You're just going to stay here for a few hours, but you're okay," and takes Quinn's hand.

"Hazel?"

"What, Quinn?"

"I need to call my mom Fran, Santana and Rachel because they—"

Hazel rubs her thumb back and forth over the top of Quinn's hand. "I already called them."

"Okay," Quinn says, and then Quinn starts to fall asleep as they move her from the Emergency Room and into an elevator, then to a different room. Her chest still hurts and everything is blurry because some time in the past few hours someone had taken her glasses off, but Hazel and David are talking behind the nurse pushing her bed, and they sound not at all like the voices she'd heard after the accident, because they don't sound like they're crying, or sad, or worried.

And they're not saying, "Please," like it's the most precious word in the world.

.

When Quinn wakes up again, it looks like sunrise, and the chairs by her bed are empty, and she's curled up on her right side. She feels much more aware of her surroundings, although she doesn't remember much of the past night except for—and then she coughs, and she's sure—she has pneumonia.

Then Santana walks into the room with a cup of something that's making little wisps of steam—Quinn's pretty sure it's cappuccino, because that's what Santana always drinks—and Santana is wearing sweats and her glasses and her hair is curly and even though Quinn doesn't have her glasses or contacts, she can tell Santana looks kind of like a mess.

But then she sees that Quinn's awake and she smiles. "Hey," she says, sitting by Quinn's bed and putting the cup on the little table there. She runs a hand through Quinn's hair, pushing it back from her forehead.

"Hi," Quinn says, and her throat feels swollen. Her voice sounds raspy, and she notices that there are little oxygen tubes stuck in her nose.

Santana hands Quinn her glasses and then sits back, taking a small sip of her drink. "Hazel and David went to get a few hours of sleep before class once I got here, but they were with you most of the night."

Quinn nods. She reaches for Santana's hand and snuggles a little further into the bed.

Santana laughs and scoots her chair closer, then takes Quinn's hand. "And Judes Skyped with me this morning. I showed her how peacefully you were sleeping so she calmed down enough to not feel the need to fly out here."

"Good. I'm flying home tomorrow."

"Exactly what I said," Santana tells Quinn, standing from the chair and then sitting on the bed. She starts playing with Quinn's hair again, and Quinn automatically feels sleepy.

"Frannie told you to get off your sorry ass."

"She did not."

"No, she didn't," Santana says.

Quinn laughs, which turns into a painful cough. Santana rubs her back gently until Quinn wheezes a few breaths.

"And I practically had to lock Rachel into her room and recruit Jamie to get her to her audition, because she really didn't want to go."

"But she's going to, right?"

Santana nods. "I told her that's what you'd want."

"It is," Quinn says.

Santana takes a sip of cappuccino, staring out the window.

"And you came."

"Not since Britt visited in September."

Quinn pokes Santana in the ribs. "That's not what I meant."

When Santana looks back down at Quinn, her eyes are glassy. "I know," she says.

Quinn swallows and closes her eyes.

Santana says, "When—you in the hospital, and just—I _hate _that all of this is happening to you and—you mean so much to me, Quinn."

Quinn feels a few tears sneak out as she opens her eyes. "That wasn't so hard to say, was it?"

Santana wipes her eyes with a little laugh and shakes her head, but she doesn't move from the bed. "You should really stop getting hurt or sick. You're making me go soft, Fabray."

"I love you, too, Santana," Quinn says.

A few minutes later when she falls asleep Santana is in her dreams, and she holds Quinn's hand as the glass world around her detonates clarity. Santana doesn't flinch, no matter how much glass slices their skin; she doesn't let go.

.

A little later in the day, Quinn's phone starts ringing while Santana and Hazel are getting lunch. She pauses the episode of _Gilmore Girls_—she's on season 4 now—and smiles when she sees Rachel's face on her screen underneath her contact info.

"Hey," Quinn answers, and she tries to make her voice sound less rough than it is.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel whispers. "You sound awful."

Quinn laughs. "Thank you."

"That's not what I meant," Rachel says. "How are you feeling?"

"Loads better. My fever broke sometime last night and they're not going to have to drain my lung, at least not right now, which is awesome."

Rachel's quiet. "I was so worried."

"I'm okay."

"That doesn't make me less worried."

Quinn smiles. "I'm mostly just tired and my chest is sore, and if Santana makes me laugh too hard, I cough a lot. But I'm okay, really."

"Are you sure?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "How'd your audition go?"

"Great," Rachel says, and then chatters on about it for probably twenty minutes. Quinn puts her on speaker when Santana and Hazel come in, and they all listen as Rachel excitedly tells them everything.

Quinn starts to doze off, curled up with Rachel's NYADA sweatshirt on over her gown, and then Santana tells Rachel, "You're putting Quinn to sleep."

"It's not you," Quinn says, then yawns.

Rachel stops and then says, "Quinn, would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

Hazel says, "Aw," and Santana rolls her eyes.

But Quinn says, "I'd love that, Rach."

Rachel clears her throat and then sings:

_There goes the girl_

_Yeah the pretty bird on the golden mile that made you feel real_

_She took with on to the stars_

_She don't make no big deal_

_There she sits with them big old fields of daisies and rusted mills_

_And when the sun it shines on her hair of gold_

_She's beautiful_

_She's beautiful_

_Won't you come on home _

_I built us a flying machine_

_And well go where you want well sail the seven seas_

_I hope all is well in Daisy's dreams_

It's one of Quinn's favourite songs, and Rachel knows _that_, which means more to Quinn than she can really say.

So she dreams instead, of Rachel meeting her in the ocean.

She's still bleeding and there's no way to stop the preceding explosions of glass, but when Rachel tugs her down deeper into the water, her dark hair billowing out around her, and then touches Quinn's lips with her own, Quinn breathes air.

Quinn doesn't drown.

.

When she gets to the airport in Lima the next day—after a hellish flight because her chest _hurt _with changing cabin pressure, and she's planning on coming out the day after Thanksgiving, so the entire time she felt nervous—Judy is waiting for her, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I'm so happy you're home," Judy says, then wraps Quinn in a long, tight hug.

"Me too, Mom," Quinn says, then takes Judy's hand. Somewhere in between Judy insisting on lifting Quinn's luggage from baggage claim and walking outside and not having a panic attack on the ride to their house because Judy asks about school and not boys, Quinn thinks that for the first time maybe ever, it really is _home._

Judy makes hot chocolate and when Quinn quietly asks if she can sleep in Judy's bed that night, Judy says yes without any hesitation.

* * *

references. not really, but how cool would it be to see grace kelly and barbra streisand doppelgangers in real life? i mean. yeah.


	7. oh sweet girl remember this

an (1): bonjour. here's another update. this chapter was a lot to take in, even if it's a little shorter. i hope you like it. review and everything because i love them and you're brilliant.

an (2): title from "the give" by thao with the get down stay down. it's a lovely song so you can just listen to that.

* * *

seven. _oh, sweet girl, remember this (of course i love you a little bit, that does more than i can do)_

_._

"I'll just be a minute," Quinn promises as Judy parks the SUV in the Berry's driveway.

"Take your time, sweetie," Judy says.

Quinn gets opens the door with a small smile and climbs down. Her chest still aches and she has the worst cough she's ever experienced and she's tired, but she's certainly feeling better than a few days ago.

It's cold, and Quinn watches her breath puff in the air as she walks towards the Berry's door. It's late morning, and all of the leaves on the trees have fallen off, scattered around on the ground. Quinn doesn't even make it to the doorbell before Rachel's opening the door, hugging Quinn gently before stepping back and taking her in.

"I brought you a card," Rachel says with a laugh, "so my dads wouldn't think I was being impolite."

Quinn takes it. "That was unnecessarily nice."

"Well, it's Thanksgiving."

"That it is." Quinn motions to Rachel's burnt orange dress. "You're already festive."

"I like this holliday." Rachel brings her hand up to cup Quinn's cheek, and Quinn imagines Judy watching them from the car. She doesn't shrink away, though, because Rachel says, "I just had to see you for myself. Make sure you weren't lying when you said you were okay."

Quinn twirls around once. "Here I am."

Rachel smiles. "Here you are."

"Happy Thanksgiving. Say hello to your dads for me."

"I will. They hope you feel better, by the way," Rachel says. "Give Judy my love."

"I'll call you tomorrow afterward," Quinn says, and she's serious.

Rachel nods. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Rach."

Rachel brings her arms around Quinn again, and Quinn hugs her back, and she imagines Judy realizing that her daughter had found someone who fits perfectly.

Quinn walks back to the car and Rachel waves, and when Quinn climbs in and shuts the door, Judy smiles at her.

"They wanted to give us a card," Quinn says, showing the little dark green envelope to Judy. "And Rachel's dads wish you a happy Thanksgiving."

"I'll have to send them a thank you note," Judy says, then takes Quinn's hand.

Hope suddenly blooms in Quinn's chest, rooted in soil and wrapping around her ribs, shattering glass and slaying ghosts Quinn never even knew existed.

.

Quinn takes one step inside Santana's front door before she sees blond hair and a sweater with turkeys on it for exactly a second before Brittany is squeezing her and saying, "I missed you so much, Quinn! And Santana told me you were sick so I wasn't supposed to hug you too hard—am I, because San would be mad if I hurt you and Lord Tubbington would never forgive me and—"

"Hi, Britt," Quinn says, laughing.

Brittany backs up and looks Quinn up and down. "You look _hot_, Quinn. Sorry, Judy," she adds, stepping forward and helping an amused Judy and a laughing Santana with the pies. "My mom told me I was supposed to help you bring these in before I did anything else but I missed Quinn too much."

"It's okay, sweetie," Judy says, squeezing Brittany's forearm gently before she smiles at Quinn. "Quinn's a very missable person, after all."

Brittany's brows knit together, and she looks to Quinn with shock. "They made you into a missile at Yale? But I though you were against the war."

Santana laughs and tugs on Brittany's hand, and Quinn shakes her head. "I missed you too, Britt."

They walk to the kitchen to put down the pies and Quinn greets Santana's father, who's working on mashed potatoes, with a hug. Brittany's little sister runs up and animatedly tells Quinn about how she was almost old enough to start cheer.

Maribel walks in from the pantry with Susan, Brittany's mom, and they kiss Quinn's cheeks and squeeze her hands and give her soft hugs, and then they start talking to Judy about their book club, and they send Santana and Brittany and Quinn off to plan the evening entertainment.

Quinn almost cries because she has a home and a family. Mostly because, although she's done nothing to deserve it, she _belongs _to these people.

She curls up with Brittany on Santana's bed as Santana searches through her iTunes library, and Brittany runs her fingers through Quinn's hair and kisses her forehead.

Santana smiles gently and says, "I'd be jealous, but I know you're not half as good a kisser as I am, Q."

Brittany says, "Quinn's not a _bad _kisser."

"Quinn has pneumonia. I bet she tastes disgusting."

Brittany says, "San, you know you don't need to be mean or feel jealous, right? I thought last night—"

"—Do I need to leave?" Quinn asks.

Santana laughs. "I suppose you can stay. For now."

Brittany kisses Quinn's forehead again. "Lord Tubbington would be sad if you left so soon."

"Well, I can't live with making Lord Tubbington sad," Quinn says.

Santana says, "I can't argue with Lord Tubbington."

Brittany shrugs. "No one can. He's a genius."

.

Thanksgiving dinner, which they eat around three in the afternoon, is loud and full of laughter. Quinn sits between Santana and Judy, and when Brittany announces that they all have to go around the room and say what they're grateful for, and Judy says, "I'm thankful that Quinn's home," Quinn wants to stop time.

She wishes she could freeze the seconds, stop them from evaporating or fading like waves against sand, washing up and shaping the shore until the tide rolls out and all that's left are remnants: slimy seaweed and rough driftwood, sea glass sparkling and worn from years of endless tumbling, a dusting of salt like snow.

.

Maribel puts a gentle hand along Quinn's back. "Honey, you know you don't have to help with this. We'll get it later." The other adults are relaxing in the Lopez's large, comfortable living room.

Quinn nods, drying her hands from the warm, soapy water in the Lopez's kitchen sink. "Santana and Brittany were—They get a little overwhelming sometimes, and I figured the least I could do for you having us over is help a bit."

"We love having you over, but I understand about Santana and Brittany."

Quinn laughs. "I'm sure you do."

"Well, if you insist on doing these, I'll help you dry." Maribel gets out a fresh dish towel.

"Thanks."

Maribel asks comfortable questions about school and Quinn's classes and roommates and friends, and how Quinn's feeling.

And then Quinn says, "You knew about Santana, huh? Before she came out?"

"For a long time, yes."

"You—you saw Santana and me kissing. You know, right?"

Maribel puts down the towel and turns to face Quinn. "I know, sweetie."

Quinn nods. "I—um, I'm going to tell my mom tomorrow."

Maribel smiles gently. "I think that's wonderful, Quinn."

"I don't know what she'll say but I'm out at Yale and it just feels so _good _to be honest, and, I just—" Quinn fights tears, looking up at the ceiling.

Maribel squeezes her soapy hand. "From what Santana's told me, I understand that it must be so much better to be open about it. And, no matter what your mom says, you have a home with us. You know that, right? You're always welcome here."

"Thank you," Quinn says, and she cries when Maribel pulls her in for a hug.

.

That night, Quinn dreams she slices open her skin and peels back her ribcage to reveal clear, perfectly symmetrical glass boxes. Each of her lungs is encased, as well as her heart, and they're held together by little floating electrical wires, green and red and black.

Then Quinn's thumb inches towards a little tiny red button, and she stands on some beach. When she pushes the button, the smooth, generic plastic of it pressing into the pad of her finger, the boxes in her chest detonate, explode everywhere, and her organs are shredded, masses of blood.

The only thing Quinn can think when she snaps awake and tries to catch her breath in the dark is that she hadn't fallen this time. She'd _chosen: _she'd been the oneto push the button.

.

Before they go out for breakfast the next morning, Judy checks Quinn's temperature to make sure she doesn't have a fever—which she doesn't—and it makes Quinn smile.

Judy drives a few miles under the speed limit and then suggests that they watch a movie when they get home, in case Quinn is feeling tired. Breakfast is simple and fun and light, and Judy looks at Quinn like Quinn has _always _wanted: She seems proud and she seems like Quinn is one of the most important people in the world to her.

And then they get home and they start watching _Walk the Line _and Quinn feels her thumb inching its way towards a red button.

She makes it halfway through the film before she sits up. She's already near tears, and she takes a second to remember how wonderful these past few days have been, the simple pleasure in belonging. In not imagining.

She closes her eyes and sees her sealed chest. "Mom," Quinn says, and Judy pauses the DVD, sitting up a little on the couch and looking at Quinn concernedly.

"Do you feel okay?"

Quinn shakes her head and looks down. She hears the ocean in her ears, waves pounding away. "I want to tell you something, and it's because I want you to know me and be a part of my life."

Judy takes a deep breath and nods.

"I love you so much," Quinn says, and she doesn't try not to cry now. Judy's eyes immediately water. "I'm so proud of how far we've come, and I'm so proud to be your daughter."

"Quinnie—"

Quinn takes Judy's hands and squeezes. "Please just let me—I need to—"

"Okay."

"I tried so hard not to be," Quinn says, "but I'm gay."

Quinn closes her eyes, but then Judy's arms are around her shoulders and Quinn's thumb slides away from the trigger as Judy gently removes the glass boxes all on her own, because as Quinn sobs, Judy whispers, "Oh, Quinn, it's okay. I love you. It's okay, it's okay."

.

A few hours later, after Quinn takes a nap, she pads into the kitchen where Judy is making macaroni and cheese for dinner. Quinn sits down at the counter on a tall stool, puts her chin in her hands.

"Mom?"

"What, sweetie?"

"I hadn't planned on crying that much earlier."

"It's okay."

Quinn shakes her head. "I know. I, um, I had planned on—you probably have some questions, and I—I'll be honest and everything."

"I do have a few things to ask you."

"The floor is yours," Quinn says, gesturing with her arm to the kitchen.

"I'm not really sure how to—"

"Just mumble through it."

Judy smiles. "Well, um. You're sure?"

"Yes."

"So you've—you and another woman have—"

"I've been with other girls, yes. And boys. So I'm sure."

Judy nods, spooning the now-finished pasta into two bowls. "Lots of other girls?"

"No," Quinn says. "Two. Santana—" Judy doesn't even blink as she gets out forks from the drawer— "and Abigail. I met her last summer at the mall and we slept together a few times. She's a junior at Ohio State."

Judy sets down Quinn's bowl in front of her and hands her a fork. "Are you with Abigail now?"

"Nope. It didn't really mean much, honestly."

Judy sits down on the stool next to Quinn's. "Are you with someone else?"

Quinn shakes her head. "But—" Quinn takes a bite of pasta.

Judy grins. "You like someone?"

"I do," Quinn says. "And I'm pretty sure they like me back."

Judy nudges Quinn's arm excitedly.

"No offense, mom, but it's weirding me out a little bit that you're being so cool about this."

Judy puts down her fork and tucks a strand of hair behind Quinn's ear. "I caught you kissing Santana a few times, so it's not really that out of the blue, honey."

Quinn bites her bottom lip.

"Plus," Judy says, "when you were in your accident, and they didn't know—I _can't _lose you again, Quinn."

"Mom," Quinn whispers.

Judy shakes her head. "So I'm really going to try. I might not always be comfortable with the idea of you being with other women, but I want you to be happy. And I'm so proud of you for telling me, and I will _never _stop loving you."

Quinn smiles, then takes another bite. "I love your mac 'n cheese."

"I know you do," Judy says. She ruffles Quinn's hair and then looks at Quinn seriously. She asks, "Is it Rachel?"

"What?"

"Do you like Rachel?"

"Yeah," Quinn says, "I like Rachel."

"She's wonderful, Quinn."

"Tell me about it."

Judy smiles. "Oh, I'm sure she has no chance against you."

"Because I'm so smart and funny and successful and talented and beautiful?"

"And modest."

"My greatest quality."

Judy laughs. "Ever since you were little, when you wanted something, you got it eventually."

"Except my letter from Hogwarts."

Judy rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

They eat quietly for a few minutes, and then Judy asks, "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"When you and Rachel start, well—"

"—Dating."

"Dating. Yes. Would you like to have her over here for dinner? Maybe over winter break if you're together by then."

Quinn hugs Judy. "I'd love that, Mom."

.

Rachel murmurs, "I'm so happy for you," and hugs her so tightly the next morning in the foyer of the Berry's house that Quinn starts to cough, and it's painful and loud and she's pretty sure she can hear the fluid moving around in her lung.

Rachel grasps Quinn's upper arm and Quinn holds up a hand. "I'm okay," she wheezes.

Rachel's brows are raised. "You don't sound okay."

"You were hugging me too tight," Quinn says, smiling.

Rachel rolls her eyes and leads them to the comfortable couch in their living room. "Let's watch a movie. Invalids like those, don't they?"

"I'm not an invalid." Quinn crosses her arms.

"Petulant, too."

"Pot, kettle."

Rachel laughs. "How come it took four years to find out how funny you are?"

"You grew into my sense of humour?" Quinn suggests.

Rachel tosses a pillow at her. "You're an idiot."

"You love me."

"I do," Rachel says, and her breath catches. Quinn's eyes get big and her hands feel shaky.

"What movie are we going to watch, oh wise one?" she asks.

Rachel holds up _Sunshine Cleaners_. "I know you like Emily Blunt."

"Lots."

Rachel puts the disc into the player and then sits next to Quinn. When Quinn starts coughing again at the beginning of the film, Rachel frowns, then pats her lap.

Quinn curls up on her right side and rests her head against Rachel's legs, and Rachel's fingers start running through her hair. Her eyelids are heavy and she allows them to droop, and she hears Rachel say, "She has pneumonia," in response to one of her dads' gentle footsteps.

When Quinn falls asleep, the boxes in her chest explode again and for a minute she has no lungs and no heart, but then a new heart blooms, bloody and slick and smooth, sea glass made shiny and beautiful from years of being tossed by waves, sharp edges worn away.

.

She and Rachel drive to get vegan pizza after Quinn wakes up a few minutes after the movie ends. When Rachel slides in the same side of the booth as Quinn and smiles at her, Quinn takes Rachel's hand.

It's simple, the way they go together, and Rachel teases Quinn about her messy hair and her glasses and Quinn teases Rachel about her ability to ramble about _anything_.

Quinn asks, "Do you think you'll ever want to be with Finn again?"

"I don't think so," Rachel says.

Quinn nods, staring at her menu.

"Unless—"

Quinn snaps her head up to look at Rachel. "Unless what?"

Rachel laughs lightly. "Calm down, Quinn. I was going to say unless you stop—"

"Stop what?"

Rachel shrugs. "Letting me hold you when you sleep."

"Oh."

Rachel swallows.

Then Quinn smiles. "I think I can handle that. You're pretty much the same size as my stuffed animals anyway."

Rachel elbows her and Quinn laughs. It starts to snow outside, the silent remains of salt on the beach during low tide. When they walk to Rachel's car, they leave footsteps, proof that they're no longer ghosts at all.

...

references. _walk the line_, which is one of the most beautiful films ever. also, _sunshine cleaning_, which is just wonderful.


	8. holy wounds and holy wars

an (1): dear lord this is fluffy. the story has more angst coming up (like, certain things still need to be addressed), but for now, enjoy the cotton candy clouds of rainbows. and review, because this is how much i love you guys. x

an (2): title from big deal's "pi," which is gorgeous, so listen to that.

eight. _holy wounds and holy wars (you heal me with a smile, send shivers down my spine, is it true? could you be mine?)_

_._

"God, Quinn," Hazel says, moving Quinn's yellow Balderdash piece three spaces further along the board, "do you just, like, sit up in the middle of the night and study all of these cards?"

Santana nods, rolling the die.

"When I was in the hospital, after I first woke up and they told me I was—paralyzed—" Quinn stares at the floor of their dorm room— "someone brought this game and, I don't know, reading all of these weird facts made me feel better somehow."

Everyone—Rachel, Santana, Hazel, one of Hazel's friends from her chemistry class, Sarah, who has skin a shade darker than Santana's and dark eyes—quiets, stilling.

"God, I'm just kidding."

Santana reaches across the board and slaps Quinn's shoulder. Rachel brings her hand to rest above her heart.

"Bitch," Hazel says.

Quinn laughs. "You guys were so dramatic."

"You're not allowed to joke about that," Rachel says, snuggling closer to Quinn. "You almost died, and you're just—you can't—"

Quinn smiles softly and puts her nose against Rachel's neck. "Sorry."

Rachel pulls back and looks at Quinn seriously. Quinn tries not to glance towards Rachel's lips. "Besides," Quinn tries to breathe. She swallows. "I mean, how would any of these make me feel better?"

"You're weird?" Hazel offers.

"I'm going to read the fucking card now, idiots," Santana says, waving it around in Quinn's face.

Quinn wins the next card, too. She shrugs. "I read a lot."

.

Judy texts that night—a novelty, because Quinn had taught her how to over Thanksgiving Break—and says: _I'm so proud of you, sweetie. I hope your weekend with Rachel and Santana is fun. I can't wait to hear about it :)_

Quinn smiles, imagining how long it actually took for Judy to type the entire thing. She calls her instead and tells her, "Thank you," and "I love you," and it hits Quinn that she's homesick for the first time in her entire life.

.

That night, Quinn dreams she's in Lima General Hospital, in the Emergency Room, Trauma Bay 2. Everything is sharp in her dream, her vision, her smell, the feeling of scissors cutting through the pink fabric of her bridesmaid dress. A nurse holding her hand as someone slices the skin above her shattered ribcage, shoving a tube between the bone and into her lung.

She isn't scared in this dream, though, and they rush her into the operating room and then she watches as make careful incisions to expose the inside of her body. It's more of an autopsy than surgery, because they don't seemed rushed and they make cuts that allow them to unhinge the skin on her chest, split her abdomen in two.

This time all of her organs are encased in glass boxes—her stomach, her diaphragm—and instead of being red and alive, they're crystalized. Then the doctors are suddenly gone, and Rachel's face is floating above hers, and Rachel's crying, and Rachel starts saying, "Please, Quinn, _please_," and Quinn wants to answer, but she doesn't remember what Rachel's begging for.

Quinn gestures with her right arm and Rachel looks towards Quinn's palm. There's a piece of glass imbedded there, and Rachel frowns, sniffling, then gently pulls it from the sinew and skin. It's jagged and long, and Quinn watches it sparkle with her blood when Rachel holds it up to the big bright lights overhead.

Then Rachel looks down at Quinn's flayed-open-body and runs a gentle finger along the edge of the box closing up Quinn's heart, moving to a tiny hole in the middle of the front panel, the pad of her finger swirling around.

Then Rachel takes the piece of glass she'd pulled from Quinn's hand and carefully inserts it into the gap in the box. She turns it, and the front of the box slides open.

Rachel smiles gently at Quinn and puts both hands against Quinn's heart. It's suddenly bloody, flushed. Beating.

"There you are," Rachel whispers before Quinn wakes up.

.

"If you get hurt, I'm going to kill you," Santana says, stumbling up the snowy hill, dragging a sled.

"That's comforting," Quinn says, taking the red string with a mittened hand.

"RuPaul's waiting for you at the bottom."

"Don't call her that." Quinn waves to a wildly cheering Rachel, laughing when Rachel's hat falls off. "She's cute."

"Whatever you say, Fabray."

"My poet tendencies are rubbing off on you," Quinn says, sitting on the sled and situating her feet against the metal runners.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Nothing of _you _is rubbing off on me. Don't flatter yourself."

"Hurry up, Quinn!" Hazel shouts from the bottom of the hill, and David claps his hands. Marcus gives her a thumbs up.

"Man up and get her in your pants," Santana says, then puts her hands against Quinn's back and pushes.

Quinn manages to make it all the way down the hill without really any problems, and it's fun, speeding through the snow, even if a jolt of pain shoots up her spine when she goes over a bump.

She sort of tumbles at the bottom, sliding off the sled on her side and lying in the snow for a second before bouncing up and laughing.

Hazel grins and takes the sled, and she, David, and Marcus bound up the hill, trying to plan how they'll all fit on the sled together.

Rachel smiles and brushes snow off of Quinn's cheek, and it's white all around—the sky, the trees, the ground beneath their feet.

The flakes—each is different, crystalized—falling remind Quinn of the gentle sound of waves, and the sun peaks out for a moment from behind a cloud.

"Let's make snow angels," Quinn says, and flops down against the snow, not caring that it's cold against the back of her neck or that Judy might be angry that one of her nice wool peacoats was probably going to be ruined after this outing.

Rachel giggles and then Quinn sees her on the ground out of the corner of her eye. Quinn flails her limbs around to make indentations in the snow.

They're waves, and they're shattering glass, and she can feel her heart beating in her chest, in her ears, in her toes. The snow moves: She is not a ghost.

Rachel's hand—encased in a knit red glove—grabs onto Quinn's, stilling its movement.

Quinn rolls over and props herself above Rachel, on two elbows and her knees.

Rachel's eyes get big, but then the corners of her lips sharpen into a smile. Quinn vaguely registers Hazel screaming and David laughing and Santana talking to Sarah, but then Rachel says, "I love you."

Quinn closes her eyes. Quinn leans down those final inches—and they're the tide, the moon, throwing stones, _just a few more steps and you're walking_—and then her lips are against Rachel's lips.

And then Rachel kisses her back, and Rachel tastes like hot chocolate and rose-flavoured lip salve and snow.

Everything's very quiet. Quinn hears only the snow falling and Rachel's breath in her lungs.

Quinn tips her head back and every cell in her body is nervous. She feels raw and new and tempered, cracked—she could break in a second.

But then Rachel says, "There you are," and, when Quinn opens her eyes, Rachel is looking at her like she's waited four years for that too.

Rachel leans up and kisses Quinn again, and it's the feel of Rachel's tongue that assures her everything's real, although her organs are exploding and every single one of her tendons is tensing, her blood skittering around in her veins like birds diving into the sea.

Rachel leans back and then laughs a little, and Hazel clears her throat. Quinn tumbles to the side and Rachel sits up, her hat falling off again.

David says, "Quinn!" and pumps his fist in the air.

Santana rolls her eyes and grumbles, "Finally," but her smile is so big her dimples are showing.

Marcus says, "That was so fucking hot."

Sarah looks at Hazel, then Rachel, then Quinn, and asks, "Does this mean Hazel's spending the night in my room tonight?"

.

Rachel plays with Quinn's fingers, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on Quinn's bed. Santana and Hazel are in Sarah's room down the hall, and Quinn swallows when Rachel bites her bottom lip.

"We should talk about this," Quinn says.

Rachel nods resolutely, playing with the fraying edge of the sleeve of Quinn's comfortable, oversized sweater. "Okay."

"Are you gay?"

Rachel shakes her head, looking down. "I—I find men and women attractive, Quinn. And obviously I don't—it doesn't matter to me that you're a woman because you're—" Rachel lifts her head— "you are who I want to be with."

Quinn feels her cheeks getting sore from smiling. She takes deep breaths. "How long have you known this?"

"That I want to be with you?"

Quinn nods.

"I mean, you're _you."_

Quinn raises an eyebrow.

"You know, beautiful and smart and the one girl in school _every _guy wanted to be with."

"And crazy. You forgot crazy."

Rachel ignores the question, looking at Quinn intently. "I think—since—I don't know." Rachel sighs. "Definitively since I visited you here for the first time and you came out to me. I told my dads that I was having romantic feelings for you and everything in September."

"September?" Quinn debates pounding Rachel with a pillow. "I've been—you've been—"

"—You were coming out to people around you, and then your family, and I wanted to be your _friend_ while all of that happened. First. Most importantly." Rachel squeezes Quinn's hands.

Quinn takes a deep breath.

"Do you understand?"

"Yeah. I do. Just—thank you."

"But, if you're ready, I'm ready. I mean—"

"—Rachel," Quinn says, "I've been in love with you for years."

Rachel swallows. "I'm sorry."

Quinn laughs, then lets go of Rachel's hands and runs them along her face. "God. I just, I never thought I'd actually get to have you. Like this."

Rachel takes Quinn's hand again. "As your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Well then." Rachel smiles. "Quinn—Lucy Quinn Fabray—would you like to be my girlfriend?"

Quinn says, "I would love to be your girlfriend."

Rachel pulls Quinn's right hand up towards her face. She puts her fingers against the tiny circle of raised scar tissue in the middle from an imbedded piece of glass.

Even through severed nerve endings and her body's natural scarring, Quinn feels the warmth of Rachel's soft kiss. Quinn sees the remains of their messy snow angels out the window, bright under a street lamp, even in the chilly night.

.

During finals week, she gets sick again—bronchitis this time, the doctor at the student health center says, and Rachel threatens to come there but Quinn assures her she's okay—and Quinn finishes the semester with all As anyway.

She gives Hazel and David hand-written short stories for Christmas, stories she'd never write again, ever. David gives her a pretty dress from Anthropologie and Hazel gives her a copy of Carl Sagan's _Cosmos _on DVD along with a gift card to IHOP with a little _haha _written on the back.

Her flight home this time consists of putting in headphones and falling asleep as soon as they take off. Judy will be there to pick her up, and whether it's because she's exhausted or whether it's because it's merely a nap—or possibly something else entirely—if Quinn dreams, she doesn't remember it at all.

When the plane skitters to a stop, Quinn takes a few deep breaths and walks out to meet Judy and forgets all about Trauma Bay 2 in the Emergency Room of Lima General when Judy asks, "What do you think Rachel wants for Chri—Hannukah?"

...

references. carl sagan again. and i think that's it. also balderdash is my favourite boardgame because i know those words. shhh.


	9. i have more dreams than you have posters

an (1): so, lovelies, good news and bad news: i'm going on a super cool trip all over the east coast (going to new haven and nyc, not even joking), and i'm leaving on friday, so idk how often the updates are going to be. i'll do my best to get some writing done, i pinky-promise. (and also i'm seeing _once _so it might get all sappy again that day). anyway, i'll be on this trip for ten days, so not that long. i just wanted to give you all a heads up now.

also, um, no, by angst i meant like shit-went-down-these-past-four-years-that-needs-to-be-addressed angst, not-i'm-going-to-kill-quinn angst. i mean, the story's in her pov. and she's my baby. i would never ever kill her.

_those things _being said, here's the next update! yay! i hope you like it. your reviews are magic. x

an (2): title from "cannons" by youth lagoon. listen up. :)

* * *

nine. _i have more dreams than you have posters of your favourite teams (and though the shot won't kill me it still bruises my skin)_

.

"Are you sure they'll like me?" Quinn fidgets with a button on her coat as they walk towards Rachel's car parked in Quinn's driveway.

"They already know you," Rachel says.

"But—"

Rachel shakes her head, turning towards Quinn and taking her hand. "They're going to love you, okay?"

Quinn takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay."

Rachel nods once, and Quinn thinks it's reassuring, like floating on her back in the pool during months of physical therapy, breathing for just a moment before she started frustrating work forward again.

Rachel drives slowly and Rachel holds Quinn's hand the entire time. Rachel turns on Youth Lagoon and starts singing quietly.

"Those aren't the words," Quinn says.

"You can't even understand the words."

"You can understand some of them. Or look them up."

Quinn watches Rachel's profile lift into a smile. "How come you never sang any of these songs during glee club?"

"Because I don't know the words?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No, not just Youth Lagoon. I mean the music you love?"

Quinn shrugs. "People don't really listen to it, or appreciate it. I don't know."

"I appreciate it."

Quinn smiles. "I know you do."

"Why didn't you sing it?"

"It's—" Quinn bites her bottom lip— "Sometimes I just feel like someone wrote a song just for me. And it resonated, made so much sense in my head. Made me feel less lonely. And, you know, if I shared it with people and they didn't think it was as important, then it would seem smaller. Less significant. And I needed it to stay big. I needed it to stay powerful enough to save me."

"Quinn."

Quinn takes a deep breath as Rachel turns down her street. "Does that make any sense?"

"So much." Rachel puts the car into park as soon as they get to the driveway.

Quinn smiles. She feels feathers melting and oceans of notes—every song in her head is sung by Rachel—letting her know they were there always, no matter how long it took for her to fall. "Good. Because when I said that in my head it sounded a little bit crazy."

Rachel undoes her seatbelt then turns towards Quinn. "God, they're going to love you."

Quinn stares down at her hands.

"Come on, girlfriend," Rachel says, getting out and skipping around the car to open Quinn's door, offering her hand.

"I'm dating a nerd," Quinn says, taking it with a smile and unfolding from the car.

Rachel says, "A chivalrous one, though."

"That's true."

"And you're also a nerd, miss 4.0 at Yale."

"You got all As too." Quinn smooths her hair as they walk up the short path with her free hand, and then Rachel tugs on her arm.

"You look beautiful. Your hair is perfect and sexy and adorable and you're perfect and sexy and adorable and my dads are so happy for us, so just be your bat shit self and relax."

Quinn laughs. "They already have a high baseline for crazy, having raised you and all."

Rachel rolls her eyes but squeezes Quinn's hand as they walk through the front door. "We're home," Rachel says, and Hiram comes from the dining room.

"Hi girls," he says, hugging Rachel and then hugging Quinn. His cologne smells nothing like her father's used to, and she relaxes just a little more.

"Thank you for having me over," Quinn says.

Hiram waves his hands. "It's our pleasure."

Leroy hurries out of the dining room. "Stay a while, Quinn," he says.

Rachel laughs and ducks her head and says, "Daddy," and Hiram motions to take her coat.

Rachel takes Quinn's hand again and even gives her a chaste kiss, and when Quinn glances up, both Hiram and Leroy are grinning.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Dads," she grumbles.

"Dinner will be ready in two minutes, so you can sit down," Leroy calls, walking back towards the kitchen.

Rachel leads Quinn to their dining room. It's warmer and less formal and a little smaller than the one she'd grown up with, and Rachel sits right next to her, instead of across the table.

"I hope you like pad thai. Rachel said you did, but we were suspicious because it's Rachel's favourite." Leroy sets down a steaming bowl of food in the middle of the table.

"I love pad thai," Quinn says.

Hiram smiles, kissing Rachel on the top of the head before sitting down. "Good to know Rachel wasn't lying. Although," he says, tapping his chin, "_you _could be lying now."

"Dad," Rachel reprimands, and Quinn laughs.

"We're just going to have to watch you eat, I guess." Leroy raises his brows.

"Pad thai's not a very graceful food for me," Quinn says.

"You're not alone in that. The first time Rachel tried to use chopsticks—she was three—she got noodles everywhere. Hiram, go get that picture. Adorable!"

Rachel puts her face in her hands and says, "I thought we agreed to wait to show her baby pictures until the next time."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, there's going to be a next time?"

Rachel laughs. "Absolutely."

Quinn kisses the side of Rachel's head. Hiram hums a little tune happily.

The rest of dinner is easy and light, and Quinn's nervousness fades away. Hiram and Leroy tell her stories about Rachel as a baby and toddler, which makes Rachel's cheeks flush and an embarrassed smile shape her lips. Rachel holds her hand and they help clear the table when they're finished.

During dessert—vegan chocolate cake and strawberries—Hiram asks what Quinn is thinking of doing after she's finished undergrad, and when Quinn says, "I mean, I love drama, but I think maybe I'd like to write. Get an MFA or something. Maybe screenplays. NYU has a cool program," Rachel absolutely beams.

They leave a little while later with hugs and kisses on the cheek, some leftover cake on a plate covered with saran wrap for Judy.

"It was wonderful to have you, Quinn," Hiram says.

Leroy nods, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"It was wonderful to be here," she says.

They get in the car and Rachel hums along to Youth Lagoon. It's beginning to snow.

There are tears on Quinn's cheeks and she clutches the plate of cake in her lap.

Rachel looks over concernedly before asking, "Oh, Quinn, what's wrong?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I'm just so happy."

Rachel pulls over and puts her hands on either side of Quinn's face, and Rachel cries too. Quinn feels shifting in her chest, glass boxes sliding open, waves pouring in to fill tidal pools: the spaces between her ribs, the lining around her lungs, the valves in her heart, moving to a rhythm that finally was big enough, that finally seemed to make sense.

Quinn tastes their tears like salt water when they kiss.

.

"This is so good," Rachel says, holding up Quinn's cup from the Lima Bean in the middle of the Anthropologie.

"It's just tea, Rach." Quinn laughs, picking up a candle off the top of a stack to smell it.

"It's delicious." Rachel fingers a pretty blouse. "You're really going to get Santana a candle?"

"Her apartment smells disgusting."

"Quinn," Rachel says, tugging at Quinn's hand. "You can't buy your best friend a candle for Christmas. Candles are what you buy for people you don't know."

"I already—I have a present for her, but I wanted to get her something else too. And it's December 23rd, so, you know—" Quinn holds up a vanilla chai scented candle— "a candle."

"What else did you get her?"

"I can't tell you that," Quinn says, watching Rachel scrunch her nose at a green candle.

"Why not?"

"It'll ruin your present too."

Rachel walks over to a shelf housing scarves.

"I think maybe a scarf is worse than a candle," Quinn says, moving behind Rachel, then putting her arms around Rachel's waist.

Rachel leans her head back a little into Quinn's collarbone and smiles up at her. "Love you."

It's the first time they've really kissed in public, outside of a safe place with friends or family, but Quinn can _feel _Rachel's smile.

It doesn't last long, and when Quinn looks up and Rachel takes a step away and then simply takes Quinn's hand, one woman is smiling shyly in their direction, but other than that, no one is even paying attention.

Quinn glances over at a sweater she's sure Santana would love, and thinks that she's breathing out more ghosts all the time.

.

They walk along outside after Quinn buys the sweater, and Rachel twirls a few times in the falling snow.

"One time, when we had Cheerios over winter break, Santana, Brittany, and I snuck outside and had a snowball fight. In our uniforms and everything," Quinn says.

Rachel laughs. "Did you—"

"—Quinn!"

Quinn turns around because she knows—remembers, however hazily—Abigail's voice.

Quinn waves hesitantly when she sees her a few feet behind them, the same flash of perpetually tangled bright auburn hair and green eyes, freckles across her nose, just exiting La Province. "Hi, Abigail," she says.

Abigail walks toward them, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I almost didn't recognize you without the pink hair," Abigail says.

Quinn runs a hand through her hair. "Too much upkeep," she says, and Abigail laughs.

Quinn turns toward Rachel. "Rachel, this is Abigail, my friend," Quinn says, motioning between the two of them. "Abigail, this is Rachel, my girlfriend."

Rachel smiles even brighter at Quinn's lack of hesitation, and Abigail smiles too. "It's nice to meet you," Rachel says, and Abigail shakes her outstretched hand.

"You too, Rachel." She turns toward Quinn. "What've you been up to?"

"I'm at Yale," Quinn says.

"Yale?" Abigail grins. "That's great, Quinn."

"Thanks. How's school for you?"

"Same old, same old. I just took the MCAT though, which was not fun."

"I'm sure you did great," Rachel says.

"Thanks," Abigail says. "Where are you going to school?"

"NYADA," Rachel says.

"New York? You must love the city."

"I do." Rachel takes a deep breath, and Quinn can tell she's preparing for a ramble.

Before she can, though, Abigail glances at her watch and says, "I'm sorry, but I have a thing with my mom in, like, twenty minutes, so I have to go, but it was really nice to see you again. You seem really good, Quinn."

"Thanks. Good luck with everything," Quinn says.

Abigail nods. "You too. And, Rachel, it was nice to meet you."

Rachel says, "You too."

"You're a lucky girl, Rachel," Abigail says, then turns with a little wave.

Quinn breathes a few times and blinks snow out of her eyes as Rachel turns towards her, starting to walk down the sidewalk again. "She was nice. Where do you know her from?"

"We met last summer," Quinn says. "At the mall, and then—we—um—"

"Quinn?" Rachel asks.

Quinn takes a breath to steady herself—she thinks of a paramedic telling her, _Try to breathe now, Quinn, okay? You have to keep breathing for me—_and says, "Are you ready to talk about this kind of stuff?"

Rachel's breath catches and then she swallows. "I think so."

"Okay." Quinn leads them towards a bench.

Rachel snuggles into her side.

"Just, promise you won't get mad at me," Quinn says.

Rachel looks up at Quinn. "Is it really that bad?"

Quinn bites her bottom lip.

Rachel reaches both of her hands inside Quinn's pockets and lacing their fingers together. "I promise."

"Abigail and I slept together. A few times. It wasn't _dating_ or anything, and I—it wasn't important. Meaningful." Quinn studies the buckles on her riding boots.

"That's—I mean, I didn't expect you to have not—" Rachel lets out a breath quickly, the air visible in front of her. "That's not that bad."

Quinn watches a man drop a tower of wrapped packages on the ground when he walks out of Williams-Sonoma.

"Santana and I had sex," Quinn says, looking back at Rachel.

Rachel's eyes pinch together. She squeezes Quinn's hands tighter.

"Before junior year, and it was just twice," Quinn continues, her breath coming out in hurried puffs, condensing in the cold air. Proof. "It was—I—we were—"

"Why the fuck would you sleep with Santana?" Rachel whispers. Her eyes are filling with tears.

"I was messed up," Quinn says.

Rachel unwraps her hands from Quinn's. "That's not good enough."

Quinn takes her hands out of her pockets, picking frantically at her left thumb nail. "It was, like, I—If Santana pretended hard enough, I felt like Brittany." Quinn rubs her eyes. "And if—when I closed my eyes and said your name, I could pretend she was you."

"Oh," Rachel mumbles, and her shoulders slump. "Quinn, that's—"

"—Sad," Quinn says.

Rachel puts one hand—it's warm and small and soft—against Quinn's cheek, wiping away a few freezing tears. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

"Unless you have a really long list of girls you're going to keep telling me about or something."

Quinn shakes her head. "That's it."

One corner of Rachel's mouth lilts into a gentle smile. "Then I'm not mad."

"Promise?"

Rachel's lips are reassuring. "I promise."

Quinn takes Rachel's hand again. "And it was just Finn for you?"

Rachel nods. "Just Finn."

Quinn stands then, a little stiffly because of the cold, and grabs the Anthropologie bag with Santana's sweater in it from the ground. "I bet I'm going to be so much better," she whispers in Rachel's ear.

Rachel shivers, and Quinn grins because she's sure it has nothing to do with the cold.

.

Quinn paints her nails in an attempt not to bite them, but after a while she gives up and just takes the gold nail polish off, sitting in front of the TV and watching reruns of _Breaking Bad _while she absentmindedly chews her fingernails down to the quick.

Judy walks by with a basket of laundry and says, "Quinn, stop that," but it's gentle, and, for a moment, Quinn does.

But then she looks at her phone and it's already 9:32 pm and there's no text or call from Rachel, and so she resumes her nervous habit, eyes glued glassily to the screen.

Quinn doesn't even have to dream this time to come up with images of her skin flayed open and her organs exposed. This time Quinn thinks that maybe her bones would be glass too, and Rachel could touch one part of her—a rib, her femur, a vertebrae in her spine—and then the rest of her would shatter, tempered and designed, a chain reaction, into an innumerable number of little pieces like stars in the sky, and Quinn's blood would pool and collect inside her skin, and her organs would be unprotected from the brokenness of what was supposed to keep them safe.

It had, after all, happened before, she reasons.

And then, at 9:57, her phone dings. Rachel's text says: _Can you come over now? I'm okay but I just really want to see you. I love you._

Quinn scrambles off the couch and shouts, "Mom!" while she gathers her phone from the floor and tugs on her boots, rushing to the hall closet and fighting to get her arm through the sleeve of her coat.

Judy walks down the stairs and helps Quinn put her other arm through the sleeve calmly, then takes her keys out of the bowl on the counter and heads towards the garage.

When Quinn says, "Go faster," under her breath, Judy smiles. She doesn't speed up, but Quinn realizes that for the first time in almost a year, she actually wants to be in a car. Or maybe it's just that she wants to be somewhere. To _be. _Alive, but also with Judy, and Rachel, and herself. She thinks that being is starting to fill the empty spaces between her ribs and spine, that the ghosts are floating away, just because there's no room anymore.

.

"When I told him that I'd never want to be with him again, he got sad," Rachel says, sniffling.

Quinn pulls on a pair of Rachel's sweatpants as quickly as possible—she's wearing reindeer underwear because she hadn't considered the very prominent likelihood that she'd spend the night at Rachel's and not want to sleep in her jeans—but Rachel doesn't seem to notice.

"And then?"

"He's Finn, you know." Rachel's eyes follow Quinn's arms this time as she lifts her sweater over her head.

Quinn puts one of Rachel's NYADA t-shirts on. "Yes, I know."

Rachel shrugs, staring at her clasped hands.

Quinn climbs up on Rachel's bed and crawls towards where Rachel's sitting. She situates herself against the pillows and then puts an arm around Rachel's head, guiding it gently so that Rachel's curled against her chest.

"So then he asked if it was because of him, and I said it was sort of, but mostly because of myself. My dreams were—_are_—bigger than his and that's not fair to either of us."

Rachel's hand starts rubbing little circles against Quinn's stomach, wrinkling up the shirt.

"And then he asked if there was someone else."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I almost lied, but then—" Rachel sits up and scoots so that's she's resting on her elbow. "I'm so proud to be with you."

Quinn smiles, kissing Rachel softly. "So you told him."

Rachel nods, snuggling again into Quinn's chest. "I told him that yes, there was someone else. And when he asked who, I told him it was you."

Quinn kisses the top of Rachel's head.

Rachel sighs. "And then he kind of got all red and stood up and then sat back down, and I thought he was going to stop breathing or something, but instead he just punched the table once."

"Did he touch you?" Quinn tries not to make her voice sound as scary as she's feeling.

Rachel shakes her head. "No, no, Quinn. Not at all. Just, he said that he needed to go but that he hoped I'd be happy."

Quinn smiles softly into Rachel's hair. "And are you?"

Rachel's hand snakes under the hem of Quinn's borrowed t-shirt. Quinn's breath catches and she closes her eyes. "I think I'll manage," Rachel says.

.

When Quinn dreams that night, small hands cup her heart and burn it, scald it.

But then those same small hands are soft as they peel away the layer of charred tissue to reveal fresh, raw, new muscle, slightly larger than the last.

Shiny and smooth, worn like sea glass, but loud, lyrics Quinn can't quite understand but knows anyway.

.

Quinn walks downstairs, Rachel right behind her, their hands together. Quinn's sure she's a mess—she always is in the morning, especially her hair—but Hiram beams when glances at them over the top of his newspaper.

"Good morning, girls," he says. "There's coffee."

Hiram goes back to his crossword and Rachel says, "Sit down," and motions towards a chair at a small, pretty table in their kitchen. Quinn glances at Hiram's crossword puzzle, reading the clues quickly, and Rachel places a cup of coffee—black—in front of Quinn before pulling out the chair next to her and then taking her hand.

"Fifteen across is 'Mimi,' from Puccini's aria," Quinn says, remembering an excited conversation Rachel had had with her on the phone after one of her theory classes.

Rachel looks at Quinn, happy and shocked.

"Believe it or not," Quinn says, "I actually listen to most of the things you say."

Hiram laughs. "She's a keeper, Rach."

Leroy nods in agreement and places a stack of pancakes down in the middle of the table, then distributes plates. Quinn watches him kiss the top of Rachel's head, and then he kisses the top of hers.

Her heart is taking up new room, she knows, ghosts evaporating like fading tide with each beat.

.

For Christmas, or Hanukkah, she writes everyone important—Judy, Frannie, Robert, Santana, Brittany, Rachel, Beth—their own short story, like she had for Hazel and David. They're all different, one of a kind, and they're simple, and they mean things she'd never be able to say without the help of narrative and characterization and emotional plot structures.

Mostly, though, they're about denouement.

She writes about reconciliation and redemption through her characters, and she thinks of scars when she does this, because marks are left, no matter what. Along spaces, mostly, where things break—spines, ribs, the palms of hands. Scar tissue, however, is the body's response to trauma. The body's resolution. Falling action. To build up defenses. To repair. To heal.

Each wrapped in a neat box, the only things bigger than the stories themselves are the people Quinn gives them away to. They're sort of like scars too: No matter how much they've hurt, they've ended up saving her a thousand different times.

...

references: um, stores? lol. okay so like all of quinn's wardrobe is from anthropologie on glee, and i know about all the lgbt stuff. their clothes are so cute though, and quinn wears them, so that's why that's there. also williams-sonoma and la province are stores i like, lol. i think that's it though.

...

references: um, stores? lol. okay so like all of quinn's wardrobe is from anthropologie on glee, and i know about all the lgbt stuff. their clothes are so cute though, and quinn wears them, so that's why that's there. also williams-sonoma and la province are stores i like, lol. i think that's it though.


	10. forgive and forget, to be the better man

an (1): so i have a wonderful, funny, brilliant dad, but i realise that some people aren't nearly as lucky as i am. so remember when i said that angst was going to happen? yeah. well, here's a little angst. this chapter is short and more of it will get fleshed out later, but yeah. it needs to happen. (also i wrote this in an airport because it wouldn't get out of my head. so much for not updating, lol).

an (2): title from 'sloom' by of monsters and men. so duh. listen to that.

* * *

ten. _to be asked to take this plunge, to forgive and forget. and be the better man, to be a better man, to be a better man (so love me mother, and love me father, and love my sister as well)_

.

"It was fun to see Frannie again at New Year's," Rachel says, mumbling into Quinn's chest.

"Mmmmm."

"And Robert." Rachel's tongue flits along Quinn's right collarbone, and then her hands untuck Quinn's blouse from her skirt and tights.

"Can you please just—" Rachel runs a finger all the way up Quinn's spine, to the clasp of her bra— "shut up," she says, her voice low.

Rachel smiles up at Quinn—a sweet smile, an innocent smile, betraying what her hands are doing or the fact that they're in Quinn's dorm room before Rachel has to go back to New York when classes start the next day, or that they'd kicked Hazel out when they'd started to kiss—and says, "I thought you liked my voice."

Quinn rolls her eyes and ducks down a little so that she can kiss along Rachel's stomach. She's discovered glorious skin there, softer than she'd ever imagined and almost more golden. "I love it when you moan," Quinn whispers, and Rachel groans. Quinn feels small fingers shakily, frantically, trying to undo the buttons on her blouse.

She sits up, resting against Rachel's hips, and Rachel's brow furrows in focus as she gradually gets Quinn's shirt off. And it's in the second that Rachel says, "God, you're so beautiful," that it hits Quinn that Rachel is going to see her. It's not that Rachel hasn't seen her before—understood her, looked at Quinn differently than other people. It's the physical act of seeing, of Quinn literally being laid bare and exposed in front of Rachel's actual eyes. For Rachel to touch and hold and learn.

The spaces between her ribs. The ridges of her spine. Every inch of her skin. Her scars, her ghosts. They'll burn away, evaporate, shatter. They'll belong to Rachel after this.

Quinn stills and Rachel seems to sense the shift in her posture, or her blood pressure, or the exploding boxes pounding away in her chest.

"You're beautiful, Quinn," Rachel says again, sitting up and tucking her legs underneath her, resting on her knees facing Quinn. Quinn closes her eyes as Rachel unclasps the final button against Quinn's sternum and then pushes the blouse—flayed open, an autopsy of sorts—back, and Quinn lifts her hands slightly so that the fabric falls from her wrists.

Rachel kisses Quinn's jaw and then her mouth, and Quinn opens her eyes. Rachel runs a finger along the top of Quinn's bra, then brings her hand to rest—her touch is a ghost of its own—along the raised, pink scar on Quinn's ribs. Rachel's other hand cups Quinn's cheek and Quinn's heart pounds away between her fragile, strong bones. The hand on her ribs moves down to her lower back, and Rachel traces the scars there, then the one up her spine. A few tears run down Rachel's cheeks and Quinn's sure she's crying too, and Quinn senses the silent ghost of _I'm sorry _float from Rachel's ragged breath into her own lungs.

She takes ghosts away too.

.

Sometimes Quinn dreams of her father. Daedalus, and after every time she falls into the ocean, bloody and confused and gasping for air, with a chest hollowed out and broken bones, he turns around.

People noticed when Icarus drowned, they only pretended not to.

Russell walks away every single time, moving up the path and away from the water, dusting his sandals and not glancing back once.

.

Rachel traces Quinn's scars the next weekend, when Quinn visits.

"Those aren't all from the accident," Quinn says after a while, making sure her legs are wrapped surely—sturdily, strongly—around Rachel's, tangled and certain.

Rachel puts her hand against Quinn's jaw. "You can tell me." Her promise is soft.

Quinn swallows. "The one down my spine is from surgery, but the other ones on my back are—" she bites her bottom lip— "from my father." She closes her eyes. "When I was younger he hit me and my sister with a belt. The buckle, when he was especially mad."

Rachel face falls and her eyes grow big.

"You don't have to—I'm okay now," Quinn says, but Rachel shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel whispers, kissing Quinn.

"You don't—_you _didn't do anything wrong."

Rachel takes a deep breath. "No parent should ever hurt their child, Quinn. I'm sorry that happened to you because I love you and seeing that someone hurts you makes me sad."

Quinn feels her bottom lip tremble and her eyes burn.

Rachel whispers, "Quinn," and then Quinn feels boxes sliding open and Rachel's hands gently holding her, touching the scars on her back.

Quinn cries for a long time, and then she sniffles and sits against the wall as Rachel makes her tea in the tiny microwave, steeping it the perfect amount of time.

After Rachel hands her the mug—from an indie book store down the street, which makes Quinn smile—she says she needs to go pick up her mail.

Rachel kisses Quinn's forehead and then Quinn hears Rachel sit down in the hallway. It's quiet for a few seconds before Rachel mumbles some things, but Quinn catches the soft, sad _Thank you for being such a good dad._

She holds the warm mug in her hands and, so that she doesn't burn herself, waits until it's cool enough to take a drink.

.

It's two weeks later on a clear Saturday morning that Quinn wakes up in her bed and Rachel's sitting at her desk, working on a paper due on Tuesday for one of her theory classes, when Quinn checks her phone and sees a missed call from a number she doesn't recognize, and she clicks on the voicemail.

She holds the phone shakily when she hears her father's voice, and she doesn't actually register anything the message says until she listens to it again.

Rachel looks over at her, her smile dropping immediately when she sees the expression on Quinn's face. "What's wrong?"

"Russell called me," Quinn says. She remembers to blink.

Rachel scrambles up from the chair, sitting on Quinn's bed and taking her hand. She tucks some messy hair behind Quinn's ear and asks softly, "Are you okay?"

Quinn shakes her head and feels the anger—this time it's an explosion in her stomach—that had overtaken her so many times rush, ready to sweep over everything. A hurricane. "He said he wants to see me," she says, her words clipped, "to say he's sorry."

Rachel looks uncertain, but her hold on Quinn's hand is sure. "That's—"

"He's been sober for eight months and he's on the fucking twelve step program and one step is to try to make amends. To make fucking amends." Quinn's hands are shaking and she's surprised she hasn't thrown her phone across the room or lashed out at Rachel.

"Quinn?"

"He just expects me to—after he—he _hurt _me." Quinn puts her phone down on the duvet because she's one second away from hurling it across the room.

"Hey," Rachel says, squeezing Quinn's hand.

Quinn focuses carefully on her touch. Safe. Gentle.

"Russell's an ass and I—you can't even understand how much I can't stand what he did to you." Rachel takes a steadying breath. "And I'm not saying—I'll support you on this, no matter what, okay?"

Quinn nods.

"But do you—would it help _you _if you talked to him?"

Quinn scoots closer to Rachel, feeling the ebb of her anger and the calm rising tide of her sadness setting in, an inevitable cycle she's known for years now. "I don't know," she says, her voice cracking.

"Quinn." Rachel's voice is the moon, pushing the tide back, because Quinn doesn't drown this time, and she trusts she won't.

"I don't hate him. I did. But not anymore."

Rachel's smile is soft and so sad.

"I forgave him a long time ago," Quinn whispers. "I couldn't hold onto that anger. That resentment. It was destroying me."

"You're so brave."

Quinn shakes her head.

Rachel kisses Quinn softly. "If you want to talk to him, you know I'll be right here. And, Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"If you don't," Rachel says, "you already have two dads who love you a lot. You know that, right?"

Quinn sniffles, but the corners of her mouth lift just a little. "I love you."

Rachel pulls Quinn into a tight hug. "I love you, too."

"I think I might want to talk to him. At least once, in a few days maybe. I don't know if he can—if I want him to ever be a part of my life, but it'd be nice for once to be the bigger person and all of that."

Rachel laughs once, then wipes a few of Quinn's tears from her cheeks.

"You taught me how to do that," Quinn says.

Rachel swallows. "You deserved it."

Quinn shakes her head. "I didn't. But that's what makes it even more special."

In their kiss, Quinn, maybe for the first time, understands grace: moments of repose in the middle of a storm, taking someone else's ghosts from their lungs.

When they go out for breakfast, there's a little blond girl sitting across from her dad. He helps her cut her pancakes and allows her to pour as much syrup as she wants. Rachel holds Quinn's hand when the little girl takes an extra slice of bacon from her father's plate.

...

references. if you're not familiar with the myth of icarus and daedalus, that might be beneficial to google, otherwise this allegory won't make too much sense.

also, if you want to know more about the whole russell headcanon more thoroughly, 'like a father to impress (like a mother's mourning dress)" pretty much goes through the whole thing from frannie's pov.


	11. all day today i saw you

an (1): so i've been traveling and everything, but i wrote this while we were driving from brown to yale to columbia today. and now i'm in nyc and it's so fun. so yay! you'll probably have to wait a little while for the next update too—because i'll be in the city for another five days and probably be very busy adventuring—but hopefully this will hold you over :)

also, as it's faberry week, this includes a tiny bit of drunk!faberry and also a lot of college!faberry (obviously).

an (2): title from hospitality's 'all day today,' which is so good i'd eat it up. you'll love it. Xx

* * *

eleven. _all day today i saw you, saw your arms, saw your eyes (that were flashed like a street light, don't you know?)_

.

"Hey," Hazel says, closing their door and dropping her bag, shaking a dusting of snow off of her boots.

"Hello," Quinn says. She smiles as Hazel comes over and sits on the end of her bed, bouncing a few times. "How're you this beautiful Monday morning?"

"Fantastic." Hazel plays with Quinn's toes, which are covered with argyle socks. "But I have something to ask you."

Quinn closes her book. "Shoot."

"Well, my family is coming up to Boston this weekend because my dad is going to a gastrointestinal conference there, and I'm meeting them there on Thursday, for the weekend."

"Cool."

"I have a whole hotel room to myself, and I know it's Valentine's Day stuff, but if you and Rachel wanted to come, it'd probably be way more fun for me. I'm just taking the train, so you know, no cars or whatever." Hazel tickles the bottom of Quinn's foot. "My parents keep asking if they can meet you, too. And my brother's convinced you'll fall in love with him."

Quinn laughs. "Poor guy. Let me call Rachel, okay?"

Hazel grins. "Yeah. Okay."

A few minutes later, Quinn hangs up with laugh and an, "I'll tell her, Rach. I promise." Quinn tosses her phone on the duvet. "She says she'd love to come as long as you let her sing a little."

Hazel rolls her eyes. "When have _I_ ever made Rachel stop singing?"

"I think that may have been a euphemism. I'm not sure though."

Hazel groans. "All you two do anymore is have sex. You're no fun."

"Sure, sure," Quinn says, waving her hands. "We actually haven't slept together yet though."

"Really?" Hazel's brows raise.

Quinn shrugs. "We do _stuff_, but I mean, I just—I waited so long to be in this relationship and I just want it to be really, really special."

Hazel smiles softly. "I'm sure it will be. I think that's nice. And logical."

"Me too," Quinn says, then pats Hazel's hand. "So, what time do we leave?"

.

Hazel's parents, Tony and Margaret, meet them in the lobby of the hotel, and Hazel hugs them happily, introducing everyone. Hazel, it turns out, is a carbon copy of her mother, and her father is warm and funny, with trim white hair and lively grey eyes. Hazel's brother, Dexter, who is tall and thin and very clumsy looking—although Quinn thinks he's probably going to grow into his limbs soon—tries to be nonchalant, leaning in a way against the wall that very much reminds her of Puck.

"So, Quinn," Dexter says, taking her suitcase, "You and Hazel are having a good semester? Hazel says you're a writer, right? I've been thinking about studying English, you know."

Quinn smiles at Rachel, who is holding back laughter. "Have you? Who's your favourite writer?"

"Probably James Joyce."

Hazel scoffs.

"_Ulysses_, huh?"

"Simple, really," Dexter says, holding open the elevator doors.

Rachel nudges Quinn with a giggle.

"Rachel's never read _Ulysses_," Quinn says.

"Nope," Rachel says.

Dexter's brows raise. "And how do you two know each other again?"

Quinn licks her lips, leaning down to meet Rachel's lips in a short kiss. When she opens her eyes and straightens back up, Hazel and her parents are grinning, and Dexter looks like he's about to faint. "Rachel's my girlfriend," Quinn says.

.

Boston is beautiful and cold, and Quinn's breath mixes with Rachel's as they hold hands and wander around with Hazel, Margaret, and Dexter in the snow. They go shopping and visit Paul Revere's house, and Rachel insists on taking pictures of Quinn everywhere, and when Tony meets them after his conference ends, he pays for their dinner with a little wave of his hand. They spend their Valentine's Day weekend laughing, and Quinn flirts with Dexter shamelessly, which makes everyone laugh. Hazel's parents invite them anytime to visit their home in Phoenix.

And Quinn dreams of her chest this time as a window, and her lungs are lanterns: Two if by sea.

Quinn kisses Rachel in the snow that falls silently, and their footsteps leave a trail along the red line that traces old cobblestones, proof of revolution.

.

Quinn talks to Frannie and Judy on the anniversary of her accident. She's riding in a cab on the way to Santana's apartment—which usually makes her feel jittery and nervous—when Frannie calls, but when Frannie says, "I love you," she feels very safe.

.

"Are you sure this looks good?" Quinn asks.

Santana rolls her eyes, flopping back against her bed. "Quinn. You look beautiful, okay? Just wear that stupid dress. It's nauseatingly perfect."

"I just—"

"—Want Rachel to know how special this night is for you? Let me tell you, Q." Santana sits up, leaning forward. "She hasn't really shut up about it, how 'special' it is for you to be there, and blah blah blah."

"San," Quinn says, pulling the zipper down.

Santana stands up, holding Quinn's hand to steady her as she steps out of the pretty dress. "Hey," she says softly.

"It's just—it's been a year since—and it's Rachel's first New York performance, and—"

Santana squeezes Quinn's hand. "I know. I understand, okay?"

Quinn nods. "I know you do."

"Come on," Santana says, handing Quinn her sweater. "You have a salon appointment, after all, you and your crazy fast growing hair."

Quinn smiles, wrapping a warm scarf around her neck. "I haven't gotten a haircut since October."

"Whatever you say. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think this was just an excuse for you to pamper yourself."

"But you do know better."

"Unfortunately," Santana says with a laugh.

.

The stage is dark when Quinn and Santana get there early, the curtain drawn. Quinn has a bouquet of gardenias, and Santana has yellow roses—Quinn hadn't even really had to insist that Santana buy them—and when the usher shows them to their seats, Hiram and Leroy stand up with smiles.

"Hi, girls," Leroy says, allowing Quinn to give him a hug before she shuffles past him.

"Hi, Leroy," Quinn says, then greets Hiram, who kisses her cheek.

"You look more beautiful than ever," Hiram says.

Leroy nods. "It's a good thing Rachel won't be able see you past the stage lights, because she'd probably forget the words."

Quinn blushes. "You both look wonderful too."

Santana rolls her eyes. "As if Rachel'd ever forget the words to _anything_."

Hiram and Leroy laugh, so Quinn does too. And then the curtain lifts and there's Rachel, more talented again by her leading man, and Rachel's on stage in New York, and Rachel's singing, illuminated with a literal spotlight, and it reminds Quinn of a lantern, the rest of the cast moths.

Except this time Quinn is sure this has nothing to do with revolution or war or warnings. Rachel is brilliant, and it's a beginning, one that's been waiting patiently: a wick set in a candle, finally lit by a simple match.

.

Afterward, Rachel rushes out from backstage, a ball of energy and happiness. She hugs Hiram and Leroy with easy, free tears, and then Santana, who says, "At least you didn't suck," and wipes a few tears herself.

And then Rachel's standing in front of Quinn, and she's wearing a Yale sweatshirt and a pair of tight yoga pants, and her face grows serious in an instant. Rachel doesn't say anything, and neither does Quinn. Rachel puts one hand against the base of Quinn's skull, threading her fingers through the short hair there, and the other hand against the small of Quinn's back, and then Rachel presses her forehead against Quinn's. Quinn nods, then kisses her gently.

It's beyond words, the shattering of glass, the act of peace treaties and the detonation of chests. She feels very, very full, and for maybe the first time in her life, she thinks she understands poetry, because the beats of silence finally matter just as much as all of the words between.

Hiram and Leroy take them for pie, and then Quinn and Rachel go back to her dorm. Hiram gives them a bottle of champagne with a wink, and Rachel spills about half of it all over her dorm before they manage to pour some into plastic cups.

They toast to the things in the spaces, and, in the blur of champagne, they hold each other gently and Rachel undresses Quinn with sure fingers. She kisses each of Quinn's scars.

"Not tonight," Quinn says when Rachel's hands drift down past her belly button, because too many firsts at once is overwhelming.

Rachel sighs into her skin and nods.

"This—" Quinn motions between their naked forms— "needs to have its own moment. You deserve that."

"_We _deserve that," Rachel says.

"We do."

.

Classes go well for the next few days, and Quinn dances with David and walks around freezing cold New Haven to shop with him.

On Friday, though, Quinn wakes up confused. Her chest is so tight and she feels like she's burning up and she can't focus on anything, and she throws up on and off for an hour before Hazel gets back to the dorm from a run. She hurriedly helps Quinn back to bed and then sticks a thermometer into Quinn's mouth.

When it beeps, Hazel brushes aside Quinn's bangs and then her eyes widen in alarm. "103. Goddamn, Quinn."

Quinn tries to push her away and also somehow summon more blankets, because she's _freezing_. "I don't feel very good." Her teeth chatter.

"You don't say," Hazel says. Quinn hears Hazel talking, but it doesn't seem to be directed at her, and Quinn starts to fall asleep.

Then warm arms—David's, because he smells so nice—are lifting her from bed, and then she's in the backseat of Marcus's car. Quinn's awareness after that is splotchy at best, blips on radar: She gets put into a hospital bed and then she's wearing a hospital gown. A cold stethoscope gets pressed against her chest. She wakes up during the middle of a CT scan, but the tech talks her through a few moments of panic before she realizes where she is and calms down. Finally, someone helps her sit up and they stick a needle just below the scar on her chest from surgery. The needle is connected to a little tube, which is connected to a little bag. It doesn't hurt too badly—she can't really feel anything right there in her chest for some reason—and then yellowish fluid starts to swish into the little bag. They take the needle out and put a stark, white bandage over its evidence in her skin, and then Quinn feels warm. She falls asleep, and her dreams make absolutely no sense at all.

.

"I don't think it's fair at all to expect someone like Tim Burton to make—"

"—That isn't even the point, Leroy."

Quinn, even mostly asleep, wants to laugh, although when she opens her eyes, she knows she's in a hospital. She fidgets a little and then someone—Leroy—is holding her hand while she blearily blinks up at him.

"What are you—" the whole left side of her chest _aches_, and Quinn fights off a rolling wave of nausea.

Hiram scoots a little closer to Leroy and says, "Well, your friend Hazel called Rachel to tell her about your little escapade to the hospital—"

"—Again—" Leroy adds sternly.

"—and Rachel was very upset because she couldn't miss her show to come see you. However, Leroy and I were already in New York, and then Judy called us."

Leroy nods. "She was worried because her flight won't get here until tomorrow morning—it's just Friday afternoon, by the way—and Santana has a callback, and we were informed that Hazel is apparently going out of town to ski with your other friend."

"David," Hiram says.

Quinn nods.

Leroy says, "So you'd have been here by yourself tonight."

"But you were going to see Rachel's show," Quinn says, her voice barely above a whisper. It hurts.

"And now we're spending our evening with you, dear," Hiram says gently. "Besides, we've already seen Rachel's show three times, and we've never seen you in New Haven."

Leroy smiles at Hiram's joke, then grows serious. "You're going to need to have a chest tube inserted because you have fluid built up around your lung, and the doctors want to do it in the OR, and when we found that out, Rachel really wanted us here."

Quinn feels tears well up in her eyes before she can try to stop them.

"Oh, honey, don't cry," Leroy says, wiping Quinn's cheeks gently. "I know it probably hurts and that it's scary, but you're going to be fine. It's been a tough year, but you're strong and you're just going to do great."

Quinn shakes her head. "It's not that." She tries not to sniffle because it hurts. "I just—you're both just, and Rachel—"

Hiram frowns and walks around to the other side of Quinn's bed, so that he can hold her other hand. "Quinn, when we saw the way you treated Rachel, the way you looked at her, after you two got together—you're reverent, do you know that?"

Quinn looks down at the starch hospital blanket.

Hiram continues. "You love her, and it's so easy to tell, and that's wonderful. You're smart and independent and strong, and you make her so happy, and that's all we've ever wanted for her."

Leroy nods. "So, you're part of our family too. And when you're scared or hurt or sick, we're going to be there. Okay? There'll be no convincing us otherwise."

Quinn smiles, and she knows shining stage lights within her chest. "Thank you," she says, although the words aren't nearly enough.

A doctor comes in a few minutes later and explains to Quinn that her recent pulmonary issues have culminated in what they call a plural effusion—a build-up of fluid around her left lung—and that draining it will resolve the pain and soreness in her chest, and that her fever will go down. After a few days, they'll remove the chest tube. She'll most likely need more procedures in the future, but this should make things better for a while.

Quinn nods and tries to remember everything, although she isn't worried, or even angry; it's frustrating, but it's not necessarily unexpected.

Another doctor files into her room and starts changing her meds, and Quinn feels sleepier than before.

"We'll see you soon, Quinn," Leroy says, and Hiram smiles softly and kisses her forehead.

She doesn't hesitate to tell them, "I love you."

They pat her shins as her bed gets wheeled out of the room. She feels their fingers clearly, soft and reassuring.

.

When Quinn wakes up, she's curled up on her side, and the room is dark. She feels carefully with her left hand, hazily, until it catches on a little tube poking out from between two of her ribs, surrounded by soft white gauze.

Then a gentle hand is wrapping around hers, and Leroy whispers, "Don't mess with that."

"Okay," Quinn mumbles, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"Everything went great," Leroy says, and she feels his fingers run through her hair a few times. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

Quinn shakes her head. It's true—she feels floaty.

"Good," Leroy says. "Hiram's at the hotel, but I'm staying with you tonight."

Quinn doesn't bother to argue. She just smiles and lets Leroy keep holding her hand as she falls back asleep.

.

The next time she wakes up, more concretely this time, it's sunny. She hears Rachel and Santana arguing over a colouring book and Hiram offering to buy more crayons. Her little stuffed lamb is tucked into her side, and Judy offers Leroy coffee.

Even though Quinn is in significantly more pain now, she cherishes these moments. Santana's the first to notice she's awake, and then Rachel immediately sits on the bed.

"Hey," she says, kissing Quinn's cheek.

"You guys make me want to say cheesy things." Quinn's words slur.

Judy smiles, sitting down on the chair closest to Quinn's bed. She pats Rachel on the shoulder.

"We do?" Judy asks.

Quinn nods.

Santana sits a little roughly next to Rachel, and Rachel glares when Quinn grimaces. "Even me?"

"Even you, San. Because you're my best friend."

Santana squeezes near Quinn's ankle. "What cheesy stuff do you want to tell us?"

"Like, I love you to the moon and back and also Paris infinity times. Or, my chest feels excited like the fourth of July, even when my lungs aren't wanting to work right. Or, you make me feel like I have the best family in the world, even if we're a little weird."

Quinn expects people to laugh, but even Santana looks like she's about to cry.

"Those things are lame," Quinn says. "Sorry."

Rachel shakes her head and kisses Quinn gently on the lips, and Judy says, "Oh, Quinn, those things are beautiful," and Santana only nods and leans into Leroy's embrace when he sits down at the foot of Quinn's bed.

"We love you too, Quinn," Hiram says.

When Quinn dreams that night, there really are fireworks in her chest, celebrating peace treaties and the victory during revolution, an entirely new country, vibrant and sparkling.

She's in more pain when she wakes up the next morning, but Santana makes sit up and hook the bag collecting yellowish fluid around her lungs to the IV pole.

"I meant whatever I said yesterday," Quinn says as Santana helps her climb out of bed.

Rachel smiles.

Santana says, "We know, Q."

Santana hooks an arm around Quinn's waist steadily, and Rachel cheers them on. Quinn coughs, but she shuffles two laps around the floor.

...

references. i walked the entire freedom trail in boston (the red line) because my friends are nerds and they really wanted to. just so you know, it was hot.


	12. when your eyes turn from green to grey

twelve. _when your eyes turn from green to grey in the winter, i'll hold you (maybe i'm just in love when you wake me up)_

.

"Quinn?" Judy asks. She knocks on Quinn's bedroom door three times.

Quinn quickly pauses the music playing (loudly) from her iPod dock and tries to catch her breath as best she can—she's not really _dancing_, more just flailing around her room to music and throwing clothes into various piles for laundry later (_Spring Break Duty #1_, Rachel had written on a checklist). "You can come in."

Judy smiles as she opens the door—Quinn's sure it has something to do with her completely disheveled hair or maybe even the fact that she's wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"What's up?" Quinn clears a pile of sweaters from her bed to the floor, bouncing a few times before she sits still.

Judy holds up two dresses—one soft pinks, patterned with flowers, and the other simple, black, elegant. "Which one do you like better?"

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "What will you be wearing it for?"

A familiar flush creeps up Judy's neck to her cheeks—Quinn's body reacts the same way—and Judy glances at a heap of Quinn's scarves near her closet.

Quinn stands up excitedly. "Are you going on a date, Mom?"

"It's not a _date_," Judy says.

Quinn claps excitedly—a silly mannerism she thinks she must have picked up from either Rachel or Beth—and asks, "Who's it with?"

"His name is Tom," Judy says. "One of my friends from book club knows him from her gym, and she thinks we might like each other."

"_Tom_, huh?" Quinn waggles her eyebrows, and Judy rolls her eyes. "I'm glad you're going." Quinn takes the dresses from Judy's hands. "Sometimes I worry that you're getting lonely here by yourself."

"I'm not by myself." Judy sits on the cleared patch of patterned duvet. "I have plenty of things to keep me busy."

Quinn holds up the pink dress against her form in the mirror. "I'm sure you don't miss me or Frannie at all."

"I miss Frannie," Judy says seriously, and when Quinn turns with an incredulous stare, Judy is laughing. "Oh, Quinn, of course I miss you. Sometimes I don't miss your music—"

"—It's _good _music, Mom—"

"—But _you_, I miss you lots. But I'm good."

Quinn hands Judy the black dress. "If he doesn't like you, he's an idiot."

Judy smiles.

"And, Mom, I miss you too, you know."

.

Rachel's spending the night catching up with Kurt, and Santana responds to Quinn's text asking if she and Brittany wanted to hang out with: _We're playing naked fort wars, if you'd like to join us._

So Quinn smiles and settles down on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and _Swamplandia! _by Karen Russell as she waits for Judy to come home. She curls up in a blanket and one of Judy's softest cashmere sweaters, and her perfume—Chanel No. 5—is comforting and heavy, saturated and sad in a good way: Quinn is the one waiting for Judy to come home.

The first time Quinn came home from one of the parties she'd been at, with pink hair and a pierced nose and a ripped t-shirt she'd paid seventy-four dollars for at Urban Outfitters, she smelled like cigarette smoke and she'd been drunk and high on drugs she didn't even know the names to. When she'd stumbled through the front door as the dawn peeked out from the covers of night, Quinn had seen Judy asleep on the couch. When she closed the door—slammed, maybe—Judy had jerked awake. She was still in her clothes from the day before.

They didn't say anything, and Judy had looked _mad_, but as Quinn trudged up the stairs and kicked off (_real_) Doc Martins and her clothes and inspected a few hickeys on her collarbones from Abigail, red and incriminating, because they were small and dainty and rough, the expression in Judy's eyes picked at Quinn's insides, like the beak of a bird trying to hatch from an egg.

Quinn pushed it back before the shell around her could crumble completely, and she collapsed into bed naked. But she knew it: Judy had been worried, and Judy had been relieved when Quinn had come home. Judy had been _glad_.

Quinn knew that once she acknowledged that, the bird would hatch and grow and fly. A part of her wanted that—had _always _wanted it, desperately, painfully—but she was also scared: You could see so much more when you were able to fly.

.

It's not that late, only about 11:00, when Quinn hears the garage door creak open. Judy was going to a simple dinner at a nice restaurant at 8, and then a movie, so Quinn had expected her back later if things had gone well.

"Hey," Quinn says.

"You didn't have to stay up for me," Judy says, sitting down in the chair across from Quinn's curled position on the couch.

Quinn shrugs. "It's only, like, eleven. I wouldn't have been asleep anyway."

Judy slips off her black pumps.

"So." Quinn scoots over on the couch. "How'd it go?"

Judy sighs, sinking back into the chair.

"That good, huh?" Quinn leans out to pat Judy's hand. "What was wrong? Did he have growths or was he in the mob or something?"

"No, no."

"He liked _Twilight_, didn't he?"

Judy laughs quietly. "Nothing as interesting as that. We just had a difference of opinions on some things we talked about. He wasn't rude, really, just—I don't think we'll be going out again."

"Do you want to—what things, Mom?"

"Nothing, really."

Quinn sits up, and she feels her stomach drop in a moment of panic, like the first drop due to turbulence on an airplane. "Was it because of me?"

Judy straightens, looks at Quinn seriously. "No, Quinn."

"It was."

Judy smiles softly. "In a way, in a wonderful way, it was. Tom asked me about my children, and I told him about Frannie, and then I told him about you."

"Me? And Rachel?"

Judy nods.

Quinn thinks of baby birds being pushed out of their nests. "I'm sorry," Quinn says.

Judy squeezes Quinn's hand. "I'm not. Not for us, at least. I'm sorry for Tom."

"Mom—"

Judy shakes her head. "These past few months, seeing you just be comfortable in your own skin, I—Quinn, I've never seen you so happy. I'm proud of you for so many reasons, and this is just one of them. I love you. I take you the way you are. I'm sorry when other people—and I was there once—can't get that."

Quinn starts to cry, and Judy just takes her arms and wraps them around Quinn in a hug. "Thank you," she mumbles.

Judy kisses Quinn's forehead. "And he was a Whitesox fan."

Quinn laughs. Judy doesn't seem to care at all that it gets snot all over her dress.

.

Rachel comes over that evening. They watch old Sherlock Holmes films and Rachel helps Quinn fold loads of laundry into neat stacks on her bed. They smell like fabric softener and Rachel's hands are warm when Quinn kisses her. Judy is out at a ladies' night, organizing some things for an upcoming event at church, and the house is quiet except for soft music from Quinn's iPod.

When Quinn woke up for the first time she remembers in the hospital after the accident, she remembers Judy sitting there, clutching a navy and grey scarf, one that Quinn bought her a month before online. It said _Yale Mom_. And Rachel was at her bedside, too, sniffling, wearing a Cheerio's sweatshirt that had _Lopez _stitched into it in red lettering. They were there, and in Quinn's version of that immediate world that existed in a kind of fuzz, like when the lens of her camera was out of focus, that was what mattered. Quinn had been in pain—her chest ached and her head pounded—and she had been scared, but Rachel had been humming an Ed Sheeran song softly. It was a ghost, flying into the spaces that included lusting after a woman and self-hatred and fear and, Quinn would learn later, the twisted and inflamed, angry vertebrae of her spine. But for that moment, it had been perfect: Judy and Rachel were _there._

An Ed Sheeran song comes in Quinn's iPod now, a year and a month later, in her childhood bedroom. Where Beth had been conceived. Where she'd dyed her hair pink, where she'd cried and cried and cried. Where she'd first kissed Santana, where she'd gotten lost in the 1920s just as easily as Wonderland.

Ghosts.

So when Rachel's fingers probe down along the waistband of Quinn's jeans, this time, Quinn nods. Rachel's eyes grow wide and Quinn hears her breathing hitch, but then Rachel says, "I love you." Quinn believes her.

Rachel takes Quinn's pants off. Rachel kisses the new, bright red, thick rope of a scar from Quinn's chest tube. Rachel lets Quinn's hands roam.

Then Rachel's fingers tease, and she looks up at Quinn, searching. "I haven't—with a girl and I want—"

"You're you," Quinn says. "I'm sure."

Then Rachel pushes her to climb toward the sun. When she falls, she falls hard and she falls fast, like she's been waiting for her entire life to do so. Rachel catches her; the world focuses again and Quinn is wrapped up in Rachel's arms. And then Quinn feels new life, and she moves further than ever before, until she can't breathe.

Drowning.

Only this time she's steady as the entire ocean _breaks _around her, and Rachel murmurs her name like the tide.

Afterward, they lay there together, and they cry.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks, brushing aside Quinn's hair.

"I've just—Do you ever have moments where life is just overwhelming sometimes, like things are too big for you to feel? Like there's just too much matter inside of you, too many cells trying to feel too many things? Moments where no words in the entire world are ever going to be enough?"

Rachel nods. "Yes."

Quinn kisses the palm of Rachel's hand. "I just feel like my body's too big for my skin or something. Like if I don't cry, I might explode."

Rachel laughs once. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You were amazing."

Rachel blushes. "So were you. I—nothing's ever been like that for me before."

"Me either. Anywhere near that."

Rachel sighs sleepily. Quinn just holds her and tries to inscribe the perfection of that moment into her brain, into her cells that are flying everywhere at once, dipping and zooming in excitement.

Then the garage door opens, and Quinn hears Judy walking up the stairs. She pulls the duvet over she and Rachel—who's fallen asleep—as completely as possible, then shuts her eyes. Judy pokes her head in and Quinn sees from a peek from behind her pillow as she smiles.

"Goodnight, girls," Judy whispers.

The moon is huge outside of Quinn's window, bright as she falls asleep.


	13. we play endlessly

an (1): sorry this update took so long; i've been super busy with work, adventures, etc. anyway, i hope you like this update. x

an (2): title from sigur ros' album. listen to 'ara batur.'

...

thirteen. _með suð i eyrum við spilum endalaust (or, with a buzz in our ears we play endlessly)_

.

"This is a horrible idea," Quinn says.

"We'll be _fine_." Rachel parks near Artie's mailbox. "It's a simple _Happy Spring Break _party."

"They're going to freak out."

"They already know, Quinn."

Quinn balances the plate of vegan brownies in her hand and climbs out, brushing aside Rachel's hand as she offers to help silently. "Facebook is nothing compared to seeing us together in real life."

Rachel laughs. "So you posted that video after all?"

"Oh my God. We've only had sex _five times_."

Puck clears his throat and closes the door to his truck. "_Only _five times, huh?"

Rachel nods. "In the past thirty-nine hours, to clarify. We're trying to—"

"—Rachel!" Quinn shoves the plate of brownies into Rachel's hands.

Puck nods in approval. "Always knew you had it in you, baby mama."

"This is the worst idea ever," Quinn mutters, following them inside.

.

It's not nearly as awkward as she imagined, or feared, really, because Santana and Brittany are already making out on Artie's couch when they go inside, and Sam and Mercedes give Quinn tight hugs. Artie asks her how she's feeling and Puck asks about Beth. Mike and Tina ask about Yale.

She and Rachel dance together and share a few kisses, but no one treats them any differently.

Rachel turns the ignition in her car and Quinn tries to comprehend how things can be completely different and exactly the same, all at once.

Rachel drives and slows near the park by her house. "Come on," she says, parking and leading Quinn to the swing-set.

Quinn feels moments of zero-gravity beneath a sky full of stars, and Rachel screams next to her. They kiss at the top of the play structure.

"I feel so young," Quinn says.

Rachel smiles. "You are."

_._

"Are you sure you can't do anything this weekend?" Quinn tries not to sound needy when she asks, but her voice whisks with a familiar whine.

Rachel sighs. "I know it's your birthday, and I want it to be awesome and everything, but I'm just super busy with rehearsal and everything."

"Oh," Quinn says. "Santana said she got a call back and she's working too."

"Yeah. We'll celebrate later, okay?"

"Can you, maybe—"

"—No."

Quinn squeezes her pillow in her left hand, tight enough so that her fingers start burning. She can feel her face growing hot. "I'm already coming to New York though."

"Baby," Rachel says.

"Don't—just, don't."

Rachel's quiet on the other end of the phone, just breathing. Quinn fights back quick, inexplicable tears—from anger, from disappointment, she recognizes.

"I'll talk to you later," she says.

"Okay," Rachel tells her quietly.

Quinn has learned, though. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

.

Her ears ring in the dream. They don't stop, even when she goes underwater. It's not the usual lush rolling of the waves above her, or even the deafening explosions of her detonated chest. It's ringing, like the toll of far away bells. Church bells, she realizes. They ring nineteen times, and, even after they stop, Quinn can still hear them: They sound mournful.

.

"Stop moping," Hazel says, dragging Quinn along by the hand. "It's your birthday, after all."

"I don't even know why we came," Quinn says, yanking her hand away from Quinn's grasp.

"Well, unlike some of us," David says, "we can't all just come to New York City all the time to bang our hot-piece-of-ass girlfriend."

"Rachel is _not _a hot piece of ass." Quinn tugs her suitcase along behind her quickly toward their hotel.

Hazel asks, "She's not?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "She is. Just, that's not why—This is just so _stupid_."

Quinn's suitcase gets caught in a crack and she pulls at it furiously before David takes it from her hand and gently coaxes it free.

"How were people ever your friends?"

"Funny," Quinn grumbles.

"And people dated her," Hazel adds.

Quinn turns around quickly. "Can we just stop. High school for me was shit, okay? I'm a bitch when I'm sad and angry and I was for—"

Hazel puts a gentle hand against Quinn's forearm. "We're just kidding, Quinn."

David kisses her cheek. "And I understand about being miserable in high school. Believe me."

"So," Hazel says. "Deep breath, okay? You're going to Yale, you have a smoking hot, _lovely_ girlfriend, your family is awesome, and we're in New York to celebrate your birthday."

Quinn smiles. "Thank you."

"Don't forget that we've graced you with our presence," David says.

Quinn bows with a laugh.

.

"Times Square really isn't that cool." Quinn crosses her arms.

Hazel rolls her eyes. "Times Square is fun, Quinn."

"Besides," David adds, "I need to see where Rachel's going to be performing one day."

"And I thought we banned your grumpasarous-rex attitude earlier." Hazel gently reaches for Quinn's hand and untangles her arms.

"Whatever," Quinn mumbles.

"Let's go see these theaters," David suggests. Quinn shrugs, but she follows them.

Then Hazel starts grinning, and so does David, and then Quinn sees Brittany for a second in a crowd of people standing outside a theater before she hears, "Surprise!"

She tries to take it all in—Rachel's there, and Santana, and Brittany, Judy, Frannie, Robert, Hiram and Leroy, Shelby and Beth, even Kurt—and Hazel is laughing next to her while David wipes at his eyes, and it's overwhelming in the way that walking again was.

Quinn hugs Hazel and says, "I hate you," because that's the only thing that might make her stop crying.

But then Judy says, "We're all going to go inside and see _Once_," and Quinn just loses it.

She hugs Santana, who says, "You didn't think I'd let you live this one down, did you?" and then Brittany, who wishes her a happy birthday from Lord Tubbington as well.

She hugs Judy, and Frannie and Robert—they give her a plane ticket for the first weekend and June and then explain that they thought it would be cool if she came for Pride—and Quinn feels like she almost can't breathe by now, but she nods.

She remembers the first time she ever read _Matilda _by Roald Dahl when she was six or seven. She thought of how wonderful it would be to be able to run away to someone that would actually love her, that would let her read _Moby Dick _late into the night, and make pancakes and tea on Sunday morning, and that would weave crowns of flowers to put in her hair.

Now, Quinn kisses Beth on the forehead now, and Shelby smiles and hugs her, and Beth offers a handmade card of scribbles and says, "I drawed you a lion!"

Kurt says, "You look beautiful. Thank you for making Rachel happy, and I'm sorry for everything," as he hugs her tight.

She says, "I forgive you," as easily as she might order coffee, without even having to think about it—because she _does_.

And then Hiram and Leroy squish her in a collective hug with a laugh.

Finally, there's Rachel, who kisses her and wipes her tears and whispers, "You had such awful birthdays these past few years. So I had to make up for it," with such gentleness that it rocks Quinn to the core: She'd found her _person_, someone who makes her reckless and clumsy and brave, someone who makes her blush and stutter and feel immediately calm, someone who makes her feel like a little kid and also like she can finally accept that she is an old soul. Someone who makes her want to just be, and to do so infinitely.

"I love you," Quinn says, then backs up a little from Rachel's embrace, still holding her hands. "I love all of you."

Even Santana's crying, and Kurt's the one to sniffle and say, "Let's get this show on the road," with a laugh, gesturing toward the door.

They all sit together in the front, and _Once _is more beautiful than Quinn had imagined. Rachel holds her hand and she gets goosebumps from imagining Rachel up there on stage, although it's not even so much imagining anymore as it is just simply waiting. After the show is over, they all get dessert at a place near the theater, and then Hiram, Leroy, and Judy hand Quinn what looks like a credit card, except it says _The Plaza Hotel _on it.

Quinn's eyes grow big.

"This is for you and Rachel, for tonight," Judy says.

"Although, technically, you don't have to invite Rachel," Hiram says. Leroy nods.

"Dads," Rachel mumbles.

"This is too much," Quinn says, her mind spinning.

"Birthdays are supposed to be about celebrating life, right?" Judy smiles. "I think yours hasn't been celebrated nearly enough."

"Please don't start crying again," Rachel says, squeezing Quinn's hand. Quinn sniffles a laugh and takes a few deep breaths.

"Thank you," she manages. Rachel presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Quinn's wrist. "Can we—we can go now, right?"

Leroy chuckles. Judy blushes.

"You may be excused," Hiram says.

Rachel rolls her eyes, and Quinn gives everyone a goodbye hug. She thanks them, but she also thinks that her words aren't nearly enough.

She thinks of becoming a writer, then, and wanting to write about nights like this: Nothing she writes will ever quite amount to that feeling, the moment where her breath was taken away by happiness as opposed to fear or speeding trucks or a burning fever. They're the moments of silence, the break between heartbeats. The cesura—the white space.

"You have a poet's soul," Rachel whispers into her ear after they check in at the front desk of the Plaza. They're in the elevator, and it goes higher and higher—toward the moon, toward the stars and the rest of the universe—until it dings its arrival at their floor. They stumble their way— between kisses and the unbuttoning of the back of Rachel's red dress—to the room, and Quinn slides the key. The dot on the door flashes green and she twists the handle. Rachel backs up once their in the room and takes her purse off of her shoulder. Her hair is a mess and her lipstick, a deep red, is mixed with Quinn's lighter pink lipgloss all against the skin surrounding her mouth. One sleeve of her dress is falling off her shoulder, revealing the strap of a lacy black bra.

"Why are we stopping?" Quinn asks, and the husky, deep, _needy _tone of her voice still amazes her.

Rachel pulls a wrapped box out of her bag and then drops the purse to the floor, handing the present to Quinn. Quinn can't tell if her fingers shake because of excitement or lust or something completely different—a creation of an entirely new universe in her chest, a buzzing of church bells in celebration with each beat of her bloody, whole heart—when she rips the paper off of a box holding a black strap-on.

Rachel watches for her reaction. "We don't—I just, if you wanted to, I—"

Quinn kisses Rachel desperately in that moment, because she's afraid of everything. She's afraid of shadows and she's afraid of light, of the champagne and strawberries on the table by the fluffy, big bed. She's terrified of the brush of curtains and the wisps of Rachel's tongue, her heels discarded in the corner and the carpet between her toes. Because they're _right_; she whispers, "It feels too good to be true," between her kisses and her tears and she simply expects Rachel to understand.

Rachel tugs at the zipper of Quinn's dress and pulls it down frantically, then slips Quinn's dress from her shoulders. "This is real," she says into Quinn's neck, then leads them toward the bed.

Rachel traces Quinn's scars. "These are real. You're alive."

Quinn bites her lip and tries to keep her eyes open. "Put it on," she says.

Rachel smiles gently, and her pupils are blown, and Quinn's body aches and buzzes and it's the best she's ever felt.

A few minutes later, Rachel asks, "Are you sure?"

Quinn says, "Yes," and she really means _of everything._

.

"You make me feel like I'm going to go on forever," Quinn whispers in the middle of the night.

Rachel shifts next to her. "When I fell in love with you, I realized I'd never die."

Quinn thinks about ringing in her ears—she'll hear Rachel's voice forever—and she whispers, "Why?"

"You've already left a mark on the world that includes me," Rachel says.

Quinn looks at the moon reflected in Rachel's pupils. They fall asleep.

...

references.

they see _once_, which is brilliant and beautiful and i adore it. listen to 'falling slowly.'


	14. i will remain the same

an (1): so, i've been just swamped at work. but i had time today to write this so yay! this is the last chapter, and i'm not quite sure what i'll write for them next. but, thank you so much for your attention and encouragement. you are, as always, lovely.

an (2): title from givers' "atlantic." listen, listen.

...

fourteen._ outstretched on my own, i have only begun to see blood move through all my veins; here in my heart i will remain the same_

.

Her hands shake, but Quinn focuses on taking deep breaths, putting the phone down steady. She waits a few seconds before climbing off her bed and standing—_standing_, agency all her own, her cells clicking into place like the inside of a watch—and walking to the door, then opening it quietly. Rachel pops up from her seat in the hallway outside her dorm, tugging a headphone out of her ear and swallowing heavily.

Quinn nods, once, and all of the tension evaporates from her body, seeping into the air like steam.

Rachel's smile is tentative. "What'd you say?"

"I-I told him that I was going to Yale, and that I was really happy. That I'm doing well."

Rachel tucks a strand of Quinn's hair, which is messy and tangled, behind her ear.

"And then I told him that I was gay."

"You did?"

"Russell—I—he used to make me so ashamed," Quinn says. "And I don't want to—I won't let him make me feel that way anymore." She smiles and kisses Rachel gently. "Because I'm not ashamed at all."

Rachel smiles against Quinn's lips. "What'd he say?"

"It was kind of awkward, and he said that he didn't agree with it but that he has so many regrets with how he treated me. He said that he's sorry and that he wants to get to know me, if I'll give him another chance."

"Quinn, what—"

Quinn takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes. "—I told him I don't know if I'm ready for that. But I told him that I forgive him."

"You're so brave."

Quinn shakes her head.

Rachel laughs. "And stubborn. That's what I think I love most about you."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "That's not something to love about someone."

"Maybe stubborn isn't the right word, not all the time." Rachel backs up and flutters her hands. "Determined. You just don't stop, ever."

"This is very complimentary."

Rachel shakes her head. "You learned how to walk again, Quinn."

Once, when Quinn woke up from surgery, just after the accident, she watched a special on the Discovery Channel about tornadoes. The tornadoes ripped at the earth in spectacular fashion, backward and forward. They tore houses from the ground quickly and easily, lifted cars and cows and mailboxes into the air, splintered glass. They destroyed, but, in her drug-fueled world, clouded with mist, the tornadoes also moved backward, like she was watching in rewind: They put back entire towns, ordered roof shingles and added panes to windows.

Walking—even the aftermath of the accident itself—was like those backward tornadoes, Quinn decided. It shouldn't have given her new life; it shouldn't have reinvented her, but it did, clawing apart her ribs and reassembling them, filing her bones into compartments that were at once the same and changed. Flowers bloomed from her new eyes, dewy and a synthesis of earth and leaves: hazel. It gave her a world, stitched and scarred, similar, vastly altered.

"I love you," Quinn says.

"I love you, too. Of course." Rachel smiles. "And, while I may feel that I don't want Russell to ever get to ever talk to you again, ever, I will support whatever you want to do. Whenever that may happen."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Whenever? Is that a promise?"

"I'm serious," Rachel says. "I know we've—you've ruined me."

"What?"

Rachel gently pushes Quinn back into her small dorm, shutting the door behind them. "I don't think I'll ever want anyone else."

.

April moves fast, in a blur full of papers and prepping for finals, dancing with David and teasing Hazel about her stack of flashcards.

On April 30th, she gets a huge package in the mailroom, from Frannie. When Quinn picks apart layers of packing peanuts and bubble wrap to reveal a vintage acoustic guitar, she almost cries. A note says _This is from Mom, too, because we've seen you looking at them for a long time. Play your little heart out. And don't let Rachel sing too loudly._

For days afterward, she watches instructional videos online and clumsily plucks away until her fingers ache.

But on the first weekend of May, she takes the train down to just outside the city. Beth's hair is lighter and longer, messy and tangled and so soft, tinted with sun, and her skin is darker, like Puck's. Shelby greets Quinn with a hug, and Beth squeals when Quinn picks her up and twirls her around.

They walk a block to a pretty park near their house, Beth nearly bouncing out of her stroller. Quinn digs in the sand and pushes Beth on the swing, catches her at the end of the slide. They have a picnic, and Quinn carefully untucks her guitar from its case, sitting on the blanket. She sings Beth silly songs and ones from old movies and Beth even sings along a few times, her dimples showing.

When Shelby picks a sticky, sleepy Beth up from her stroller when they get back home, Beth reaches out for Quinn.

"Love you," she says, then places a slobbery, clumsy kiss against Quinn's cheek, and, with a jolt in her chest, Quinn recognizes that she's constantly rebuilding—physically, her cells are literally constantly splitting and multiplying, new ones evolving all the time.

"I love you too, Beth," Quinn says.

Beth snuggles further into Quinn's shoulder and closes her eyes.

.

When Quinn dreams, she falls into the sea and sinks further down than ever before. Her eyes are about to close seconds before she feels a small, warm hand take hers, and then Rachel breathes air into her lungs. Rachel's chest splits open in time with Quinn's, fault lines, their hearts epicenters. Rachel doesn't look alarmed; instead, she reaches through the rich, red blood floating up around their bodies and brings her fingers against her own chest, picking apart her ribcage gently. Quinn watches her touch her heart, then softly, silently tears it away. Rachel holds out the fist-sized, sparkling lump of muscle and motions towards Quinn's chest.

And then Quinn understands. So she pries apart her own chest, the bones solid and splintering against the tornado of her fingers. She grabs her heart without fear and tugs, _pulls_, and it comes free.

She offers it to Rachel. In the moments of completely hollow silence, Rachel smiles.

Then Rachel leans forward just a little more and places her heart in the cavity of Quinn's chest, and Quinn feels it beat once before she mirrors the action.

Rachel tugs Quinn closer and the incisions of their chests fuse. Quinn feels the tide pulling them upward, and it feels like everything in rewind, in some sort of reverse, like when she was little and would do a flip-book from the ending to the beginning.

She and Rachel spring upward, break the surface of the fierce waves. Quinn feels wings reform with hot, liquid wax against her arms, and Rachel shouts with joy.

They fly, together, toward the sun.

.

"And yes, you will have to deal with Hazel again next year."

Santana rolls her eyes. "I suppose Hazel is the better alternative to a different yuppy roommate you might get. At least she's funny."

Quinn smiles, bending down in the now-empty dorm to pick up the last box.

"Really, Q? Haven't you learned anything by now?"

Quinn shakes her head but stands, allowing Santana to pick up the box with an exaggerated groan.

"Love you, too, San."

"If you say that one more time I'm going to punch you in the ribs. The left ones."

Quinn pats her chest. "You secret's safe with me. Unless you come over to my house for the welcome home dinner. Because the Berry's are going to be there, and I think maybe Britt too. My mom invited your parents as well."

Santana tries to hide a smile. "We're lucky."

"We are."

Santana walks through the threshold. Quinn follows her and closes the door.


End file.
